


Falling Slowly

by sapphic_ambitions



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, I mean like really everyone is in it, M/M, Our boys are idiots, Roommates, Slow Burn, it takes them a while but they get there, lets talk about sex babey, the last like 8 chapters are the epilogue/happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-03-06 06:09:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 110,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18845215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphic_ambitions/pseuds/sapphic_ambitions
Summary: The College Theatre Major AU.  A Slow Burn Queliot Fic.Quentin transfers to Brakebills University and finds himself thrown into the drama department and all the drama that goes with it. But even so, he's got a good feeling about this new school.And he's got a good feeling about the tall, handsome actor that he befriends on his first day.





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I just graduated from college with a BA in theatre this past saturday, (so I know what I'm talking about haha) and most of this fic will come from real life things that have happened lol. And I'm not saying I'm using it as a coping mechanism for saying goodbye to my own theatre department buuuuuuuuuuut
> 
> Title is "Falling Slowly" from Once the Musical

_ "I don't know you, but I want you, all the more for that," _

_ - _ Falling Slowly

* * *

 

Quentin Coldwater wished he could say that he wasn’t a nervous little fuck, but he absolutely was. Nerves rattled through him and twisted his stomach and made his hands sweaty, but starting over tended to do that to a person. But there was also something else brewing inside his chest: hope. Hope that maybe this year would be better and maybe this time he’d make friends and maybe this time he’d be able to find a place where he belonged. Starting over also tended to do that to a person.

 

Quentin was not a fan of starting over, though. He’d done it too many times and he wasn’t very good at it. He was a little bit awkward and shy and didn’t know how to carry conversations. Once he actually made a friend, and if it was the right friend, then it was fine. But it was the actual making of the friend part that he sucked at. He had just kind of stumbled into Julia and James during high school, the three of them ruling the drama department of their teenage years. Julia had easily swooped Quentin into her life and they’d been best friends ever since, even when James moved across the country and they went to separate colleges. But now, it was a comfort to know that even though he was starting over at a new college, Julia was going to be there.

 

Julia had actually been  _ here, _ at Brakebills University for the last two years. Quentin had attempted to go to a different school (Yale, no biggie) for philosophy of all fucking things, and discovered that he  _ hated _ it and dropped out a year and half in. He’d taken the semester off to take care of his mental health and applied to Brakebills. Julia had spoken to him at length over the last couple of years about the Brakebills Theatre Department, so it seemed like the natural place to go. Quentin had decided to fuck his parent’s expectations and pursue what he was really passionate about: theatre.

 

Which led him to where he was now: walking up to the Chatwin Theatre on campus. Quentin had moved into his apartment a couple days ago and arranged with a faculty advisor to get a tour of the space with one of the student ambassadors. In all the time that Julia had been there, he’d never actually gone to visit, so the towering brick building and the large and seemingly bottomless fountain in front of it were entirely new to him. He’d be lying to himself he didn’t admit that the sight of the theatre made his breath catch in his throat. Quentin was a nervous little fuck but he was also a sentimental little fuck, and the sight of any theatre anywhere made him emotional. The glowing sign of the theatre’s name and the marquees and banners of the upcoming shows always filled him with a certain light that he couldn’t get anywhere else in the world.

 

And to be at the  _ Chatwin _ Theatre of all places? The theatre named after his favorite set of sibling playwrights? He didn’t know why he ever bothered with philosophy at Yale. 

 

Quentin approached the theatre with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder, running a couple of minutes behind. He then noticed that the plaza in front of the theatre wasn’t completely empty, for on a brick wall just off to the side of the fountain lounged a very handsomely dressed man. Despite the August heat hanging in the air, the man wore a button up shirt, vest and tie. He was also smoking, and Quentin remembered hearing that Brakebills was a smoke free campus. 

 

But there was a certain air of….theatricality about the stranger. He was, after all, lounging as if he was posing for a painting class, back on one elbow, one long leg draped across the stone, the other propped up, and  _ dramatically  _ smoking. He looked so regal in everything about his manner that it took Quentin a moment to notice that he was actually about his own age, which made Quentin assume he was the student ambassador that Professor Sutherland had told him about. So he approached the man- guy- student- dude- whatever and in a typical Q fashion: awkwardly stumbling over.

 

The other man flicked his eyes to him and searched him up and down. He took another long drag of his cigarette and exhaled before sitting up and quirking an eyebrow. Since he was now facing Quentin full on now, he was able to get a better look at him. He drank in the perfectly styled hair and the strong jawline and aquiline nose and and dark eyes and slight stubble and-

 

“Quentin Coldwater?” He said, Quentin’s name rolling off his tongue in such a way that Quentin’s first thought was “definitely an actor” and second thought was “please say my name again” and third thought was “oh, I have to respond.”

 

“Uh huh,” was all he could get out in the presence of the handsome stranger.

 

The stranger hopped off the wall and approached Quentin slowly, maintaining heavy eye contact. Quentin’s brain was practically going haywire and he momentarily forgot to breathe under the steady gaze of the taller man and oh boy he was  _ tall. _ He was vaguely reminded of a lion stalking his prey. Or the first time Q went into a gay bar. 

 

He hoped that this was a bit more like the later. 

 

“I’m Eliot,” The man said, dropping his name like it was a gift to be bestowed upon Quentin. 

 

And it was.

 

“You’re late,” Eliot said, giving Quentin one last look over before taking off in the direction of the theatre. Eliot didn’t stop to look back at Quentin as his long legs carried him towards the set of front doors. 

 

“Uh, sorry,” Quentin stuttered. “There was traffic and I live really far from campus-”

 

Quentin stopped talking the moment they walked into the lobby because in the typical theatrical nerd fashion that was Quentin Makepeace Coldwater’s entire existence, his breath was taken away again. True, there was nothing truly extraordinary about this lobby. It had bathrooms and concession stand and screens that were rolling old show photos and a logo and a few more banners and a box office but it was a  _ theatre _ . And it smelled like one. And it had been so long since he had actually been inside a theatre that for a moment, the feeling in his chest sparked again. The feeling that as long as he was in this building, everything was going to be okay.

 

Eliot didn’t stop for him to take his emotional moment, however, and was already halfway across the lobby. Quentin had to double time to catch up to him.

 

“We have three stages,” Eliot drawled. “The Main Stage, which is a proscenium. The Lab, which is a black box. And the Carousel, which is in the round,”

 

They passed the box office, where a cheery young woman waved. 

 

“Hi, Eliot!” She called out to them.

 

“Say hello to Fen, our lead House Manager,” Eliot said, blowing a kiss to Fen as they passed. Eliot had the hint of a smile on his face to be greeting the woman, but it soon dissipated back into his composed look. Quentin had only known Eliot for less than five minutes, but he knew when someone had their walls up. Eliot gestured vaguely at a painting of Jane Chatwin on the far wall.

 

“There’s good ole Lady Jane. She definitely haunts this place” He said, disinterest dripping off his voice, and Quentin made a mental note to come back and take a picture later. “Don’t ask me to tell you the history of this place because I don’t know it. I just go here,” Eliot lead them through the lobby and through a door and down a flight of stairs

 

“That’s okay,” Quentin said, “I’m actually pretty familiar with the Chatwins,”

 

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re a super fan,”

 

Quentin furrowed his brow. “I mean, I don’t know if I’d say super-”

 

“This is the Green Room,” Eliot cut him off, pushing through another set of doors to a room that radiated  _ home _ . Couches with plush pillows, tables large enough to seat a whole crew of people, a little hospitality station off to the side, a cork board with an assload of papers tacked to it,  and old show posters lining the walls. “It’s empty right now,” Eliot continued, “But when classes start up, people hang out in here during the day. Eat lunch, do homework, take a nap, the usual. It’s a nice escape from the muggles,”

 

Eliot pointed to the other end of Green Room, where a door was propped open and he could see a set of washers and dryers. “Back there is the dressing rooms and the wardrobe room where they do the laundry and store all the makeup stuff,”

 

Quentin shrugged. “I don’t think I’ll ever be in there,”

 

Eliot's eyes flicked to Quentin. “What’s your focus?” He asked in a way that radiated both curiosity and “I don’t care what the answer is.”

 

“Props,” Quentin responded, with pride. He wasn’t good at a lot of things in his life, but the one place he seemed to excel was mending broken props and building new ones.

 

Eliot nodded. “I see that for you,” in a tone that Quentin couldn't quite read.

 

And then they were moving through more sets of doors and more hallways until they reached what clearly was the scene shop. It was your average scene shop with power tools everywhere and a thin layer of sawdust and paint covering everything. And in the center of the room was a very large and unfinished set piece, and by it, on a ladder, was a girl with long curly hair.

 

“Kady, this is Quentin,” Eliot introduced. The girl, Kady waved her power drill at them.  “Quentin this is the resident scenic protegee of the department. Carpentry, designing, painting, you name it, she can do it,” Eliot said, and Kady grinned. 

 

“You’re damn right, I can,” She said before returning to her project. 

 

The tour continued through a door and into a dark and cold space, to which Eliot instantly said “Oh, shit, right. They’re focusing today,” and Quentin instantly recognized it as a backstage. Eliot led them through the darkness, pointing out the sound systems and the dimmer room and the staircase up to the catwalks and grid and the staircase down to the trap room and the various projectors attached to the wall and the prop closet and the stage management station and all the things that typically belonged backstage. 

 

And then they got onstage.

 

To Quentin, there was no sight more beautiful in the whole world than a theatre in darkness. He could see the edge of the stage and the rows and rows of red seats behind it, stretching up and up to the back row where he could see a sound booth and a light from a window that was the actual booth. The house lights were on low, and the only light on stage was a single spotlight focused on a petite blonde girl.

 

The girl held a clipboard of papers in her hand and wore a short skirt and glasses. She was currently looking at the pool of light at her feet, and shook her head.

 

“Can it be any sharper, Penny?” She called up into the ceiling. There was a squeaking noise and grunting in the darkness.

 

“I’m trying, but this is the fresnel that Todd fucked up last year,” the voice, Penny, called back. 

 

“Fucking Todd,” The girl crossed her arms with a huff.

 

Quentin very much did not want to interrupt, but Eliot grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him on stage. The blonde girl jumped as the two men emerged from the darkness, and she squinted at them. “Is that you, Eliot?” She asked. 

 

“It is I,” he responded. “And I’ve got a new transfer student,” Eliot pushed Quentin forward. 

 

“Uh, hi, I’m Quentin,” He waved.

 

“Alice,” was all the blonde said, giving him a cool and unimpressed stare. She then gestured up into the catwalks. “And that’s Penny. We’re Team Lighting,”

 

Eliot cocked his head up to the catwalks. “How’s the view from up there, Penny?”

 

“Eat shit, Eliot,”

 

Eliot turned his gaze to Quentin and smiled. “We’re all friends here,”

 

“No, we’re not, Eliot,” Penny called from the catwalk.

 

Eliot flipped Penny off and led Quentin away.

 

“Don’t mind Penny,” Eliot said once they were out of ear shot. “He’s a little prickly, but he's all bark and no bite.”

 

Quentin shrugged, and tested the waters with a teasing smile. “All you had to say he was lighting tech,” Eliot laughed, almost surprised at the comment and giving Quentin a look of approval.

 

Quentin was secretly glad.

 

Eliot led them past some offices and the printer and the costume shop, where they built everything in house. Quentin made a comment about Julia, to which Eliot’s eyebrows shot up.

 

“You know the Costume Goddess?” He asked.

 

Quentin grinned. “Yeah, Jules and I went to high school together,”

 

Eliot, once again, looked impressed. “Well, we love our Julia here at the Chatwin Theatre. So if she approves of you, you must be something special.” And there it was again, the up and down look that made Quentin want to melt. This entire tour was beginning to feel like his audition for whether or not Eliot liked him, and as the more time the taller man spent with Quentin, the more relaxed he became. The more his face shifted from its original air of “I’m too cool for this,” to a quiet intrigue and genuine smile. 

 

And Quentin really hoped he got the part. 

 

Eliot showed him the black box theatre, located above the Green Room and most typically used for student productions, and the paint shop and the trap room and finally, they made their way to the prop shop, which was just outside of the trap room and the Master Electrician’s office. 

 

(Eliot explained to him that, despite being attached to a university, the Chatwin Theatre was actually a functioning professional theatre with real adults who worked alongside the students. Eliot was so proud of their status as a LORT D Equity theatre and how they could get EMC points and this that and the other thing that Quentin didn’t have the heart to tell him that he didn’t understand any of what he just said. Or that Julia had already tried explaining it to him.)

 

The Prop Shop was everything he dreamed it would be. It was state of the art, with an impressive array of tools and weird assortments of props piled up everywhere. There was a whole wall was just filled with bolts of fabric and another wall with just old table legs. Quentin was grinning so wide he thought his face was gonna burst. Eliot let him pitter around for a moment and introduce himself to the head Prop Master (who he already knew via email) and check out the cool 18th century chairs that they were currently working on. But soon he was getting dragged away by the arm again, with Eliot insisting that they had more theatre to see.

 

“Come on, we still have to go to Fillory,” Eliot had said, and at this point, Quentin accept that he probably wouldn’t understand most of what his guide was talking about. But he let himself be led back up through the maze of the theatre, back through several sets of doors and up staircases and through weirdly small hallways, back out into the sunlight of the day. The pair trekked from the main building to a smaller and rounder building just to the side of it.

 

“The Ember U. Fillorian Carousel Theatre is one of the first In The Round theatres in the country,” Eliot stated, taking them along the side of the building to the front doors. “They used to take the walls off during the summer, which was cool back then, but now it just floods every time it rains,” Eliot pointed at the edge of the walls, where it didn’t quite meet the ground.

 

“I thought you said you didn’t know the history,” Quentin remarked, to which Eliot shot him a playful smile.

 

“Don’t get cheeky, Coldwater,” He said, pulling open the front door. “We started calling it Fillory my freshman year when I was on wardrobe crew for a show and it was so fucking far away from the rest of everything that it was like it was a whole other world,”

 

“Fitting,” Quentin replied as they stepped into the space. He had never worked in a theatre in the round before, but it was cool to see the funky and round space. And in the center of it, was another person on another ladder with another tool.

 

God, he’d missed theatre.

 

“Josh, this is Quentin,” Eliot called out, “Quentin, this is Josh Hoberman, our resident Sound Guy. He also makes the best edibles,” Eliot said the last part a bit more under his breath and with a wink in Quentin’s direction. He tried to hide his blush in his hair.

 

“Hey man, how’s it going?” Josh called out, waving a wrench enthusiastically. 

 

Quentin only offered and awkward grin and a shrug before Eliot was dragging him away to leave Josh back to hanging his speakers. Once they were back outside, Eliot pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lighter again.

 

“That’s the main tour,” He said, offering one to Quentin, who declined, “The rehearsal rooms are on the other side of campus. It’ll take you a little while to get used to the layout and remember all the names, but you’ll get there eventually. Especially if you work on a show soon,”

 

“Oh! I am!” Quentin said, and Eliot raised another eyebrow. He seemed to do that a lot. Maybe Quentin was just that awkward. “I am, uh, working a show. Soon. Um, the first one of the season. I’m Assistant Props Master for  _ Peter and the Starcatcher. _ Which starts in like, three days,”

 

Eliot looked impressed,  _ again _ , and the butterflies in Quentin’s stomach fluttered. “Well, good for you, getting involved so soon,” He said waving the lit cigarette around with his hand. “I guess I’ll see you at the first rehearsal, then. I’m playing Blackbeard,” 

 

“I see that for you,” Quentin said, deadpan, nodding. 

 

Eliot bit his lip, and stared Quentin down.

 

Quentin held his gaze, heart beating fast.

 

Eliot smiled.

 

“You’re gonna do just fine here,” Eliot broke the tension.

 

Quentin exhaled.

 

“Well, I’ve got dinner plans, but I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days,” Eliot said, waving politely before strutting away. “See you around, Coldwater,” He called over his shoulder.

 

Quentin watched him go.

 

He had a good feeling about this school.

 


	2. Enter Julia

Julia came back into town the next day. She was much closer to the theatre, in a part of town called The Fort, that was only five minutes away from campus as opposed to Quentin’s forty-five minutes. She lived in a studio apartment by herself with her dog, which is why she and Quentin didn’t live together like they had dreamed about when they were in high school. But nevertheless, Quentin made the drive into campus to help her move in. 

 

She had boxes upon boxes upon boxes of junk piled up in her subaru, and it took practically an hour for them to get everything unloaded. And then there was the actual unpacking to do, which Quentin was more than happy to help with. It was either be here with his best friend or be with his weird, elderly roommates in the middle of fucking nowhere.

 

“Remind me again why you’re living in the middle of fucking nowhere?” Julia asked.

 

Quentin sighed. “Dad was so excited about me coming back to school that he volunteered to help me find housing. Which was nice, until he was insisting that he found this old couple that was renting out their basement,”

 

Julia made a face as she cut open the cardboard box labeled KITCHEN. “And you can’t find anywhere else?”

 

“I haven’t really tried looking,” Quentin shrugged. “I’ve just accepted my fate. Maybe I’ll meet some people this year that need a roommate or something,” He took the pair of scissors from her and cut open his own KITCHEN stuff. She began pointing out which drawers she wanted what items. They worked in silence for a few moments before she asked:

 

“So what did you think of the theatre?”

 

Quentin grinned. “It was even better than you described,”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Holy shit, yeah,” Quentin tossed her a pile of kitchen towels. “Everything about it was fantastic. And I met a whole bunch of people,”

 

“Like who?”

 

“Well, Eliot, for starters,” Quentin said. He’d hoped that she would have made some kind of face in reaction, but no luck. “Then Fray? No, Fen, the house manager,” Julia nodded. “Then a girl named Kady,” This name warranted a face from Julia, easily identifiable as embarrassment and trying to hide it. “Then Alice and Penny,” Nothing for either of them. “Then a guy named Josh,” 

 

Julia pointed a finger at Quentin. “He makes great edibles,”

 

Quentin laughed, his mind going to the last person who told him that. “So I’ve heard,”

 

Julia stacked her cute porcelain bowls into the cabinet. “Well, those are most of the main players. I’m sure you’ll meet everyone else at the first rehearsal and once classes start,” 

 

Quentin hummed his agreement and then, a little too quickly: “So, what can you tell me about Eliot?”

 

Julia hesitated for a moment, paused her stacking of bowls and then turned to Quentin. He tried very desperately to keep his face neutral. But this was Julia and she had known him for like a million years so it was no surprise that she quirked her eyebrow and put her hand on her hip. “What do you want to know?”

 

He suddenly found the silverware very interesting. “Oh, you know, just anything….”

 

“Q,” Julia stated in an accusatory tone that he instantly recognized. He threw up his hands.

 

“I’m just trying to get a feel of everyone in the department!” He insisted. Julia very clearly didn’t believe him. There was a reason why he wasn’t an actor. But Julia pursed her lips and squinted her eyes at him before resuming the stacking of her dishware. 

 

“Personally, I really love him.” She said, slowly, “Eliot is great, like, as a person. He’s a super caring friend and always willing to help. He’s also amazing to work with, as an actor,”

 

Quentin hoped his face wasn’t betraying his sinking heart. “But?”

 

She gave him a very knowing look over her shoulder as she pushed a mixing bowl up to the top shelf of her cabinet. “But he has a bit of a reputation,”

 

Quentin stared at her.

 

“For getting around,”

 

Quentin blinked.

 

“And for being a bit of a heart breaker,” 

 

Quentin shrugged, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “I mean, what does that even mean?”

 

Julia rolled her eyes. “It means if you’re looking for a hookup, Eliot’s your man. But he doesn’t do feelings or relationships unlike  _ someone _ we know,” she poked Quentin in the chest with a wooden spoon.

 

“Excuse you, I’m perfectly capable of having a one night stand,” Quentin insisted, snatching the spoon from her and putting it with the rest of the cooking utensils.

 

Julia laughed. “Q, please,”

 

“I’m serious!” 

 

“You called it a  _ one night stand, _ ” 

 

Quentin grinned sheepishly. “Do people not call it that any more?”

 

With a laugh and another sigh, Julia crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. “Look, Q, I love Eliot. He’s a good friend to me and a good person to work with. But I know  _ that _ look on your face,”  She reached out and booped his nose. “And I’m telling you, Eliot’s not the guy for you. Not unless you wanna get your heart broken,”

 

Quentin bit his lip and nodded, focusing again on unwrapping the casserole dish. Julia knew him better than anyone, and as much as he hated to admit it, she was right. He didn’t do casual sex. Or rather, he  _ shouldn’t.  _ Because when he did, it was a fucking  _ disaster. _ He had too many feelings in his little body and if he was having a one night stand--or hooking up with someone, whatever-- it was generally for all the wrong reasons and made everything worse. He had a history to prove it. And the last thing he needed while he was trying to start over was to sleep with the wrong person again and get his heart crushed. Again.

 

But still….

 

“But he does sleep with guys?”

 

Julia lightly punched his shoulder. “Yes, Q, Eliot is gay,”

 

Quentin laughed. “Just checking,”

 

They moved on from the kitchen boxes to her decor boxes, which she probably had more of than anything. For a tiny ass studio apartment, she sure had a lot of shit. They worked in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, Quentin kneeling and unpacking and unwrapping various items and then handing them up to Julia for her to place them on her bookshelf. It all seemed like a lot of junk to Quentin, but he liked helping.

 

“I mean,” Julia said out of nowhere, “We work in theatre, right? So like, most everyone is queer in one way or another,”

 

“Uhhhh,” Quentin raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?” At first he thought that she was talking about Quentin himself. (I mean, why else would she bring it up?) But Quentin came out as bi when they were juniors in high school, and had told her all about the various guys and gals that he’d dated and/or slept with. So that wasn’t it.

 

“Jules,” he said, handing her up a photo frame.

 

“Q,” She responded, putting it on the shelf.

 

“Is there something you wanna tell me?”

 

Julia paused, facing her bookshelf. She took a deep breath, spun on her heel and blurted out: “So, I’m bisexual?” She said, like a question. Her hands were nervously wringing and her eyes wouldn’t quite meet his own. Julia was normally the bravest and most outspoken person he knew, so it was almost a little weird to see her this nervous. But he had gone through the same thing when he had come out, and he remembered it vividly. It didn’t matter if you knew in your heart that the person was going to love you no matter what. Saying it out loud for the first time was tough. And he was proud of her.

 

Well, honestly, Quentin’s first instinct was to say “Cool! Same hat!” and high five her, but that was dumb, so he shoved his two brain cells aside, stood up, and wrapped her up in a hug. She sunk into him with a relieved sigh.

 

“Okay, well bisexuals are the coolest,” Quentin said. “And I love and support you,”

 

“Thanks, Q” She mumbled into his chest. He gave her one final squeeze before she pulled away. She was clearly trying to blink back tears, but she laughed. “Feels good to say it out loud,”

 

Quentin did finger guns at her. “Welcome to the club, Jules,”

 

She giggled and did them back at him. “Are you…” she hesitated again. “Are you surprised?”

 

“No,” He didn’t even have to think about that answer. He’d always kind of suspected it, but just left her to her own devices to figure it out on her own. “I mean, you’re literally wearing flannel right now and you just put a framed photo of Janis Joplin on your bookshelf,”

 

Julia blushed, and Quentin bumped her shoulder with his own.

 

“How’d you figure it out?” He asked, and her blush deepend.

 

“I may have um…” She cleared her throat. “I was hooking up with Kady for like, four months last year,” Quentin’s jaw dropped.

 

“Holy fuck, Julia,”

 

“Yeah, I know, right!”

 

“She’s like,  _ really _ hot!”

 

“I fucking know!” 

 

This time Quentin did high five her. 

 

“But like, what happened?” He asked.  “Why did you guys stop?”

 

Julia huffed, rolled her eyes, and went back to unpacking. “You’ve got two years of drama to catch up on, Coldwater. I’m gonna have to show you a diagram,”

 

Quentin made a face. “A diagram of the department drama? That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen,”

 

“Try disaster that already happened,” Julia groaned. “Last year was a nightmare,”

 

Quentin handed her a stack of books. 

 

“Can’t wait to see what this year has in store,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fore! shadow! fore! shadow! 
> 
> yes, this chapter was a lil short and mostly exposition but if we're gonna do slowburn in an alternate universe we gotta set it up right babey.
> 
> (and yes, my deparment did have a Diagram Disaster. some dumbass made a written record of everyone that slept with/kissed/had feelings for anyone and it was a nightmare.)


	3. First Rehearsal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to those of you that have caught onto the Peter and the Starcatcher trivia! It was also the show opener at my college my junior year, so it all just fit together nicely. So glad you guys are enjoying it so far! Enjoy Chapter 3!

The first day of rehearsals was upon them, and Quentin couldn’t remember the last time he was this excited. First rehearsals always had an electric air about them, as everyone came together for the first time and started to piece together the world they were about to create. Design presentations and the first read through were honestly Quentin’s favorite part of the whole process, because there was something….hopeful about it. About seeing the preliminary designs and hearing the actors bring voice to the written text. 

 

Like he said, Quentin was a sentimental little fuck.

 

Truthfully though, there was no reason he had to be there. The props department never gave a presentation at these things anyway, and Assistant Props Master was really just a glorified title that meant he’d be working in the shop during the day. Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, he was scheduled to work in the prop shop from 8am to noon when he had classes. But he wasn’t actually  _ working _ on the show. He didn’t have to be at rehearsals or performances. Well, Mayakovsky, the props master, made it clear to him that if he  _ wanted _ to work the show in any capacity, it wouldn’t interfere with his APM duties. So if something came along, he should say yes to it, get more involved.

 

Not that he told Mayakovsky this, but Quentin had a bit of a problem with saying yes. Most of his life had been bashfully turning down offers or experiences because he was often too scared to see it through. It was something that he and his old therapist talked about a lot, how he needs to learn when to say yes to a good thing. So Quentin kept that little nugget stored in his brain and pushed down any anxieties that said he was already too busy to actually work on the show.

 

But regardless, Mayakovsky told him to be at the first rehearsal, which he was actually really glad for. Since  _ Peter and the Starcatcher _ was the season opener, they started rehearsals a week before the first day of classes. (They’d do eight hour rehearsal days up until they started classes, when they’d switch to night rehearsals.) This gave Quentin plenty of time to get settled into the campus before the masses came along. 

 

The rehearsal hall was located on the opposite side of campus than the theatre was, in a giant room that used to be some kind of gym. There were no basket ball hoops or bleachers or anything like that, but there was the old wooden floors and tall arching ceiling that screamed 90s work out zone. Except now there were tall curtains that went from floor to ceiling around the edges of the room and there was brightly colored tape marking out a set on the floor. 

 

When Quentin got there, five minutes before the start, the room was already filled with people. Actors gathered around a U-shaped table configuration and a whole array of older people sitting in chairs facing the actors and he saw a few familiar faces. Alice was sitting and quietly chatting with an older bearded man at the tables; he saw a flash of Julia holding stacks of oversized papers; John, no, Josh was over by a large speaker, plugging in different cables; Kady was hunched over what looked to be like a mini diorama of the set; and Eliot laughing, surrounded by a group of actors.

 

Quentin tried not to think about how his heart started beating faster at the sight of him.

 

At 1:00 PM exactly, a powerful and fierce looking young woman wearing a hot pink suit jacket gathered the attention of everyone in the room.

 

“Good afternoon, everyone,” was all she had to say and suddenly the entire room was silent with eyes on her. “Welcome to the first rehearsal of  _ Peter and the Starcatcher. _ My name is Margo Hanson and I’m your stage manager. Before we get to our introductions, design presentation and read through, I have a few housekeeping things.” Quentin noticed that she talked in a way that was equal parts “do not fuck with me” and “I’m here to help if you need me.”

 

So, a stage manager.

 

Margo went on for a few moments about actors cleaning out their own coffee mugs, filling out the emergency contact forms, where they should all go incase of fire and all the usual things. Then the introductions began, and Quentin was glad to get names to faces. All of the undergrads he met yesterday were the assistant to the actual designer in the same way he was Mayakovsky’s assistant, and it was cool that they all got to work alongside professionals on such a big show like this. The only person he didn’t see from yesterday was Penny, and it made sense that a lighting tech wouldn’t need to be there.

 

The introductions carried on from the designers to the actors until it reached a certain tall brunette. “Eliot Waugh, playing Blackbeard,” he said, giving a wave to the whole room and what might have been a wink in Quentin’s direction. 

 

He tried to play Julia’s warning over in his head again.

 

The momentum left the U shaped table and made its way to the rows of chairs where various donors and other faculty members introduced themselves. And when it was Quentin’s turn, Julia sent him a thumbs up.

 

The director, Henry Fogg, who was also department head, had a few words to say about the production before the design presentations. He talked about the youthful joy of the show and the magic they could bring to younger audiences with their special effects. He talked about the casting choice of making Blackbeard the same age as Peter, and what that would mean to the production. And he talked about how the show was really about recapturing childhood happiness and innocence, and how they were all on the path to refinding their inner child. 

 

And the entire time, Quentin watched the back of Eliot’s head. And neck. And shoulders. And arms. And hands.

 

The design presentations were, for lack of a better word, fucking awesome. The set design was absolutely stunning and the lighting looked like it was gonna be killer and the costume design was extraordinary and the sound design sample gave him chills. He once again reflected that he didn’t know why he ever tried to get away from theatre when it made him feel like this. He remembered Mayakovsky's advice that he should try to get more involved with the production, and knew, even before the read through, that he was going to have to. Quentin was a person that still believed in and loved magic with his whole heart, and this was a show that spoke to just that. He'd be stupid not to take any chance he could get to be apart of it.

 

They had to take a ten minute break before they started the read through, and Quentin slipped away to the side room where the hospitality station was located as soon as Margo called it. He wasn't quite ready to socialize with forty people and learn all of their names so he was gracious for the quiet room and whistling tea kettle. He was just pouring himself a cup of tea from the kettle when suddenly he heard his name being called excitedly and Eliot and Margo came bursting into the room.

 

“This is the interruption you’ve been waiting for,” Eliot declared. 

 

“Hi,” Margo held out her hand, “I’m Margo,” Quentin shook her hand with a polite smile but he also thought that she would have been fine with it if he had bowed and kissed her ring. Margo in the rehearsal room very much had her stage management game face on, but having escaped away from all the faculty and people looking at her to tell them what to do, she had a bit of a playful smile teasing at her lips.

 

She looked him up and down and made a humming noise. Her up and down look was different than the one Eliot had given him a few days ago, more studious and less “lion stalking prey” but he still felt like he was about to receive a verdict about whether or not she approved of him. “So, this is him,” she said, mostly to Eliot. “He’s not  _ that _ cute,” she grinned.

 

Quentin was pretty sure his eyes were gonna pop out of his socket. Eliot rolled his eyes as Margo turned on her heel and went back into the other room, having delivered her final verdict.

 

“Um, what?” Quentin asked to Margo’s retreating figure. Eliot laughed and grabbed himself a tea bag and a mug with his name on it. All the actors, apparently, got their own special mugs.

 

“Don’t mind her,” Eliot said, taking the kettle from Quentin, their hands brushing, “What did you think of the design presentations?”

 

“They were fantastic,” Quentin tried to compose himself and seem less like a bumbling fool and more like a suave theatre person. “I can’t wait for the read through,”

 

Eliot poured his cup of tea and set the kettle down on the counter. He brought the steaming mug up to his face and and inhaled the scent of the tea with a sly smile in Quentin’s direction. “Oh, I bet,” He teased. 

 

Damn it, was he trying to make Quentin melt?

 

From the other room, they heard Margo call the “We’re back!” announcement, so Eliot slipped past him with a cheeky grin and called over his shoulder “Hope you enjoy it!” to the puddle that was Quentin Coldwater’s remains. 

 

The read through was, of course, spectacular. Quentin loved the text and even more, he loved the way the actors brought it to life. He tried not to think about how his palms got sweaty every time Eliot was speaking and he tried to avoid the knowing look that Julia was shooting him from across the room every time Eliot was speaking. Eliot was a  _ good _ actor. So good that he was cast in the role of Captain Fucking Blackbeard as a senior, and the part was well earned. And Quentin did enjoy it, thoroughly. Not just because of Eliot, but because of the way that the whole ensemble worked together. 

 

And it felt good to laugh in a room of theatre people again. 

 

But, soon the read through was over and Margo was thanking everyone for their time. Quentin could have easily just bolted out the door, but he wasn’t ready to leave and go back to his empty basement again. He wanted to stay and talk to Julia and maybe make some other friends and maybe get some more time in with a certain someone. He just needed an excuse to stay.

 

And then he saw another guy, about their age, struggling to stack chairs. Quentin was the king of embarrassing himself, but he even felt bad for this poor sucker who was comically trying and failing to stack the audience’s chairs onto a rolling cart. Q rushed over to help, and the guy gave him a relieved smile seconds before all of the chairs toppled over and the cart went rolling away.  Quentin tried to remember this face and name combination from the introductions as he began helping to pick up the mess. 

 

Tom?

 

Tim?

 

Troy?

 

Theo?

 

Tate?

 

“Todd!” Margo’s voice called out. 

 

Ah, yes, there it was. 

 

“What the hell, Todd?” Margo hissed under her breath, also joining in the stacking of chairs. She shot a look over her shoulder at some of the older faculty who were giving them odd looks. “Are you trying to make the stage management team look bad?”

 

Todd groaned and ran a hand over his face. “No, I’m so sorry Margo, I know this is only the first day but I promise I’ll be a better ASM-”

 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Quentin held up a hand, not really wanting to listen to Todd go on, “It was an accident and we’re dealing with it,” He took the chair out of Todd’s and (properly) stacked it up on the cart. “See? No biggie,”

 

Margo’s eyebrows raised and she crossed her arms. She stared at Quentin for a moment, clearly in thought, and then looked back and forth between the two boys. He had absolutely no idea what she was thinking but he saw a look of almost….approval? In her eyes.

 

“Quentin, how would you like to be an ASM?” She asked.

 

“Uhhhhh,” Quentin froze, chair in hand, “A what?”

 

“An Assistant Stage Manager,” Margo explained. “We need a second one,”

 

Quentin smiled in that awkward way that he did when he wasn’t sure what to say. “Uh, that’s really nice of you, but I’m a props person. I don’t know anything about stage managing,”

 

Margo rolled her eyes. “Neither does dipshit over here-” Todd waved enthusiastically, almost in a way that said  _ Hello! It’s me! The Dipshit! _ “-and he’s on the team. But that little diffusing of the situation moment you just had there is basically Stage Management 101,” She pointed her finger at him. “And Julia and Eliot speak highly of you, so if you’re willing to learn, I’m willing to teach. We've been on the search for another ASM for weeks, but you’re here now and you don't seem complete incompetent” She shrugged.

 

Quentin’s mind was still back on  _ “-and Eliot-” _

 

“You’d have to be at every rehearsal, tech, and performance.” Margo continued, “First to get here, last to leave. It’s hard work, but it’s rewarding. Even if you don’t want to stage manage ever again, it’s a good experience and a great way to get involved,” Margo gave her little spiel while sliding more chairs in Quentin’s direction for him to stack on the cart while Todd watched from a few feet away. Probably for the best. “I can work out the details with our production manager, but all you’ve gotta do is say yes,”

 

Quentin stacked up the last chair and turned to see Margo was waiting patiently with her hands on her hips. He thought back on what Mayakovsky told him about getting involved and he thought about how he was dreading spending alone time in his danky little basement and he thought about how wonderful it felt to be in the room while everyone worked. 

 

“Yes,” He forced himself to spit out. “Yeah, I mean, why the hell not?”

 

Margo grinned and clapped. “Excellent! Before you leave, give me your phone number and email address, and I’ll start including you in on the daily calls. Welcome to the team, Coldwater,”

 

Todd sighed in relief as Margo walked away, and gave a cheery grin to Quentin, who awkwardly avoided having to talk to him and shuffled away to find Julia to tell her the good news. 

 

The pair discussed Quentin’s new title over milkshakes and fries, and Julia was thrilled.

 

“Margo is the best of the best,” She said, dipping in another fry. “You’ll learn a lot from her,”

 

Quentin munched on his own fries. “I hope so. She seems a bit intimidating,”

 

“Yeah, she is,” Julia shrugged. “But she’s good at what she does and really cares about the work and the people. She and Eliot are like the powerhouses of the department.”

 

~~_ “-and Eliot-” _ ~~

 

“And apparently you, too,” He pointed a fry at her before dipping it in his milkshake, “I hear they call you the Costume Goddess?”

 

Julia grinned. “What can I say? We’ve got the best of the best here,”

 

Quentin snorted and rolled his eyes. “The best of the best and me,” He said, his self deprecating humor coming off a little bit too seriously. Julia frowned at him, and playfully threw a fry at him.

 

“Q, you’re amazing at what you do,” She insisted. “And if Margo’s impressed by you-”

 

~~_ “-and Eliot-” _ ~~

 

“-that’s saying something. So just accept the fact that you rock and that you’re one of us,” Julia slurped her milkshake in a stupendously messy fashion and they laughed as it spilled on her a little bit. “But Q,” she continued as she dabbed at the spill with her fries. “This is the fresh start you’ve been wanting. So soak it up. Enjoy the ride!” She said the last part with a very dramatic crunch of her milkshake covered fry, and they laughed again.

 

Quentin took her words to heart and marinated on them. She was right, of course, and the feeling in his chest sparked again. Not just hope for the new start, but excitement to be apart of something bigger than himself. To contribute his skill set for the good of the production and help people. To create art.

 

And also, in the back of his heart, a little flower was blooming, despite all warnings.

 

A crush.

 


	4. The 90s Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES, all of the college parties that I attended were themed. Theatre kids, man.

So it turns out, being an ASM meant dealing with a lot of props. Setting them out before rehearsal, tracking their movements along side the actor’s blocking, putting them away at the end of the night and so on. And also, being an ASM was a lot of paperwork. Props tracking, props storage, costume tracking, actor entrance/exit breakdown, run sheet, props preset checklist and so on. And also, a lot of making coffee and sweeping the rehearsal room and taking notes. And so on. 

 

And Quentin liked it. After a week of working as an assistant stage manager, he could verify that he enjoyed the work, even if it wasn’t what he wanted to do professionally. His heart still lied in the prop shop (or as everyone lovingly called it, Brakebills South, since it was in the basement of the theatre) but he enjoyed working alongside Margo and learning from her. Julia was right, she was the best of the best and knew what she was doing. She was unafraid to give criticism when it was necessary and praise when it was due. Despite having a cast of twenty men (and one girl), they all respected her and took her seriously. Which, Margo insisted was a miracle and something she’d earned by working twice as hard as any male stage manager over the last four years.

 

Todd was there too. Now that Quentin was a part of the team and handling most of the big stuff, Todd was mostly on book, which meant that any time an actor needed to be reminded of their line, he was there to deliver it to them. He wasn’t very good that either, but he sure was excited to be there.

 

But Quentin liked showing up early and setting up the space and staying with Margo at the end of rehearsal while she typed up the rehearsal report and daily call for the next day.  He liked all of that partially just because it was nice to feel included and needed, and partially because Eliot was always there, too.

 

Eliot and Margo were roommates, apparently. They lived together in a house they referred to as “The Cottage” just over the river that hugged the south of campus. According to them, it was a fifteen minute drive, which wasn’t terrible, but they would rather drive together and save the planet than take two cars. This also meant that every day when Quentin got there, Eliot was waiting for him with a cheeky smile, and every day when he was leaving, Eliot waved him goodbye. It was in the hour before rehearsal and, truly, in the hour after rehearsal when they were just waiting for Margo to finish up her paperwork that he got to spend the most time with their Captain Blackbeard. 

 

During rehearsal, they were both so busy that they didn’t get a chance to interact. Which, was fine with him. He liked that for a few hours a day, he didn’t have to think about Eliot as his crush, but as someone he worked with. He separated the two in his mind as much as he possibly could, per Margo’s advice. Not that Margo knew about his crush, God, no. But on his first day she gave him a very blanket and strict talk about interpersonal relationships with cast mates and their roles as Team Stage Management.

 

“When we’re here, at rehearsal,” She had stated, “We’re not their friends or their friends with benefits or whatever else you find yourself getting into this semester. We’re their stage managers. Our first and foremost duty is to the show,” She spoke with such a tone that told Quentin that if he were to ever fuck that up, there would be dire consequences. “We technically have power over them, and that power should never  _ ever _ be used or abused in inappropriate ways. There’s a certain level of trust between cast and stage managers, and we can’t do the damn show without it,” She went on, staring him down with eyes like bullets. “Got it, Coldwater?”

 

He nodded furiously.  “Don’t fuck it up,” He recited. “The show comes first,”

 

So he took her advice and repeated that mantra in his head.  _ The show comes first _ .

 

And he needed to repeat it to himself a lot. 

 

Eliot giving him a gracious smile when he happily presented the prop that Eliot couldn’t find right before he went on for his scene.  _ The show comes first _ .

 

Eliot laughing at a shitty comment Quentin made at the end of a long day.  _ The show comes first. _

 

Eliot greeting him every morning with a wave and a “Quentin!”  _ The show comes first. _

 

Eliot asking Quentin to help him get his costume pieces on.  _ The show comes first. _

 

Eliot pouring them both a cup of tea on a break.  _ The show comes first.  _

 

Eliot winking at him whenever Todd fucked up.  _ The show comes first. _

 

Eliot brooding as Captain Blackbeard.  _ The show comes first. _

 

Eliot bumping into him on a break.  _ The show comes first. _

 

Eliot smiling at him.  _ The show comes first. _

 

Eliot. Eliot. Eliot.

 

_ The show comes first. _

 

It wasn’t working out that well for him.

 

He hoped that it wasn’t obvious. 

 

“Hey, Q, we’re throwing a party at the Cottage tomorrow night, wanna come?” Margo asked after rehearsal on Sunday. “It’s kind of like a “Welcome Back” type party before classes start,”

 

“It’s going to be incredible, Quentin” Eliot stated, leaning on the edge of the stage management table. “The theme is 90s throwback,” Quentin made a face, and Eliot rolled his eyes. “Get it? 90s throwback for going back to school?”

 

“No, I got that part,” Quentin said, putting his laptop away in his bag, “I just don’t get why it needs a theme,”

 

Eliot and Margo exchanged a horrified look. 

 

“He’s just a child,” Eliot said, with a great deal of sarcastic sympathy dripping off his voice.

 

Margo reached out and squeezed Quentin’s shoulder. “Oh, honey,” She cooed. “You ain’t ever been to a party like a Cottage Party,”

 

Julia tried to explain it to him as they were getting ready for the party together. And yes, it was the kind of event that Quentin had to go over and  _ get ready _ at Julia’s apartment before they left for the Cottage. “Eliot and Margo are really the only people in the department who throw parties because no one could ever top theirs. They go  _ all _ out with the themes. Decorations, playlists, punch, wardrobe, it’s all apart of whatever theme they chose,”

 

Quentin groaned as Julia continued to apply thick, dark eyeliner on him. “But it’s the theme in general that I don’t understand. Parties were never like this at Yale,”

 

Julia squinted her eyes at him. “Did you even go to parties at Yale?”

 

“Uhhhhhhh, a couple?” 

 

“That’s what I thought,” Julia poked him lightly on the temple with the eyeliner stick. “I don’t know, it’s just a fun thing we do. Everyone gets really into it and has a good time. And then, because they’re all themed, it’s easier to remember the difference between all of them. They don’t blur together. Like the Cowboy Party last year was  _ insane, _ ”

 

She finished his eyeliner and showed it to him in a handheld mirror. He’d admit, it looked good. The pair had decided to go as 90s grunge bisexuals together, mostly because it was the easiest with what they already had in their closet, as bisexuals. Quentin was wearing his Doc Martins, ripped jeans, black and white striped t-shirt, black leather jacket, and his long hair flowing in a very Kurt Cobain type way. He didn’t know that it was actually very 90s, but he looked good in it. 

 

Julia was also wearing her own combat boots, ripped jeans,  _ Bikini Kill _ shirt, and a red flannel tied around her waist. She pulled off the 90s look much better than he did. 

 

“Is there anything I should know going in?” Quentin asked as she turned to fix her braids.

 

“Well, for one, we have to adhere to the buddy system. Also, don’t drink the punch unless you wanna get fucked up,” She said, “Eliot makes it super strong. Which is fine every now and then, but your first Cottage Party?” She shook her head. “That’s why we’re bringing our own beer,”

 

Quentin eyed the twelve pack that she’d bought. “Yeah, I can’t believe you’re making me drink Budweiser,”

 

Julia punched his shoulder. “You’ll thank me when you wake up in your own bed tomorrow. With Eliot’s punch, there’s no telling where you would go,”

 

The duo ubered over to the cottage, as they knew that neither of them would be responsible enough to drive as the night went on, and at 10:30 PM, half an hour after the actual start of the party, they arrived.

 

And Julia wasn’t fucking kidding. The moment they got out of the uber, Quentin could hear the Backstreet Boys blasting from the cute and quaint home that Eliot and Margo lived in. From the street lined with parked cars, they could see the glowing and colorful lights shining out of the windows. As the uber pulled away, Julia sent him a shit eating grin and wriggled her eyebrows. He rolled his eyes and elbowed her.

 

The inside of the house was even crazier. There were streamers and Christmas lights  _ everywhere _ . It looked like Margo had raided a Party City and just took all of the tackiest, cheesiest decor and then threw it all over her living room. There was not one, not two, but three of those old rotating disco balls from his childhood that were throwing colorful dots all over the downstairs. And it was  _ packed. _

 

There were an absolute assload of people everywhere, all of them dressed in the theme, none of whom he recognized. Well, he did see a flash of Penny in the corner. And was that Alice by the punch? Josh was definitely by the speakers. But he only recognized less than ten people from  _ Peter _ and no idea who the other forty sardines packed in the can were. Quentin had seen movies with these kind of wild college parties before, but never actually been to one.

 

Yale parties had nothing on this.

 

Once they made their way into the main room, Margo appeared wearing a yellow plaid suit.

 

“Holy fuck,” Julia shouted over the music, “Is this seriously a Clueless costume?”

 

Margo grinned and twirled. “You’re damn right it is! And I look  _ good _ !”

 

Julia cheered her on as she did another spin, but Quentin wasn’t really paying attention. His eyes were scanning the room for someone else.

 

“There’s punch in the kitchen,” Margo pointed,  “I don’t know what El put in it, but it’s fucking delicious. He even bought those tiny ass little drink umbrellas!”

 

Quentin lifted up their twelve pack. “We brought our own stuff, but thanks,”

 

Margo gagged. “Don’t let El see you drinking  _ beer _ in this house. He might throw you out of it,” She also turned to look around the room. “El is here, somewhere. Not sure where he slipped off to, but he’s around.” She blew them both kisses before making her way back into the crowd. 

 

“So what now?” Quentin asked. Julia grinned.

 

“We fucking party, Coldwater,”

 

Quentin normally hated large social gatherings like this, but he had to admit, with Julia by his side and several beers in his system, he was having a good time. He stupidly danced with Julia to NSYNC (“Bye, Bye, Bye,” if you couldn’t have guessed) and actually managed to join in on a couple of conversations that she was engaging in and met a few new people on his own. 

 

Still no sign of Eliot.

 

At midnight, Kady came into the house, wearing her own grunge style outfit and Julia grabbed Quentin by the shoulders. “Q, you can’t let me make out with Kady tonight,” She insisted. She sounded like a general giving marching orders, but Quentin was totally on the same page as her. He sloppily nodded.

 

“You got it, Jules. No kissing Kady,”

 

“Fucking promise me, Coldwater,”

 

“I fucking pinky promise, Wicker,”

 

He should have kept a better eye on her though, because a couple songs later, he turned around to get another beer and suddenly she was gone. This lead to a minor panic in his stomach. On one hand, Julia wasn’t as wasted as he was and she was a big girl. On the other hand,  _ where the fuck did she go? _

 

This lead to Quentin (frantically) searching the house for her. He checked the living room and the front room and the kitchen and the back patio and the bathroom, no sign of her. He eyed up the stairs by the front door, which he hadn’t ventured up since he’d been there. But now he dashed up them and opened the first door he could find. 

 

The door opened with a loud bang and immediately wished it hadn’t. 

 

It was a bedroom.

 

And Eliot was in it. 

 

With another guy. 

 

Quentin felt his heart drop.

 

Thankfully, he hadn’t walked in on them like, fucking. And actually, it looked like they were done, which seemed to be worse. The other guy was redoing his belt buckle and Eliot was putting on a lavender mesh shirt, and when Quentin had all but kicked in the door, both of their heads snapped towards him. Eliot’s dark eyes met his own. And Quentin hoped with all his heart and soul that his face wasn’t betraying the sinking feeling in his chest.

 

“Quentin-” Eliot had started to say, taking a couple of steps toward him. 

 

But Quentin just squeaked out a “Sorry!” and slammed the door shut.

 

He found Julia in the next room over, making out with Kady. The two burst apart the second he walked in, and Julia looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

 

“Julia! Thank God I found you!” Quentin said, genuinely relieved to have found her safe and sound, but also, trying not to laugh at her beet red face. He remembered his promise to her to keep her away from Kady, and wasn’t entirely sure if he was still supposed to step in since they had kind of already started the making out. But Quentin Coldwater was true to his word and if he was wrong, Julia would tell him to shove it. So he thought of the dumbest excuse he could think of. “They’re playing our song!”

 

Kady rolled her eyes, gave Julia an annoyed look, and pushed past Quentin to leave the room with a snarky: “Whatever,” The door slammed shut behind her. 

 

“Q, what the fuck!” Julia dramatically whispered as soon as Kady was gone.

 

Quentin threw up his hands, also dramatically. “You said not to let you make out with Kady! And also, you just fucking disappeared on me!”

 

Julia stood up and waved her arms, even more dramatically. “I disappeared so that you wouldn’t know I was making out with Kady!”

 

Quentin, for some fucking reason, thought that the best way to express the emotions in his body was to do a lunge like he was an athlete stretching his calves, throw his hands straight above his head like he was making a goal post, and do a silent scream like he was mimicking crowd noises. 

 

He was very, very drunk.

 

But it made Julia laugh and she reached up to take his hands into her own. “Okay, okay, okay,” She giggled. “You’re right. We agreed no kissing Kady and I shouldn’t have bailed without telling you where I was going. We agreed on the buddy system,”

 

He stood up, like a normal person, and squeezed her hands. “Fucking thank you,”

 

Then the door opened. 

 

Eliot walked through.

 

Eliot’s eyes darted down to their clasped hands and flicked back and forth between them and Quentin felt his heart sink down even further than it already had been. His mind was rolling the word “NO” on repeat and he was seconds away from going full Panic(™) when Julia frowned, dropped his hands and pointed at him accusingly.

 

“Eliot, Quentin stopped me from making out with Kady!”

 

All the tension (well, most of the tension) in his body released, Quentin couldn’t help but laugh at his best friend. Eliot also visibly relaxed, and laughed. He sent a small smile in Quentin’s direction as he made his way to Julia and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. 

 

“That’s probably for the best, isn’t it, Hoolia?” Eliot teased.

 

Hoolia? Quentin was going to revisit that later.

 

Julia groaned. “But I  _ wanted _ to!”

 

Eliot booped her nose. “Now, now, pet. We don’t need a repeat of the Christmas Party, do we?”

 

Julia hung her head. “Noooo,” She mumbled. 

 

“Then let’s go get you a cup of water, alright?” Eliot said, ushering her to the door. Julia groaned again and made her way out to the hall and down the stairs. Quentin was starting to follow her, and had just crossed through the doorway of the bedroom when Eliot grabbed his wrist. Not tightly, not roughly. Just enough to stop him in his tracks. With a deep breath, he turned back to Eliot, who had this... _ look _ on his face.

 

Was it vulnerability?

 

Also, was Eliot seriously dressed like the 90s Barbie’s Boyfriend Ken Doll?

 

“Q,” Eliot said, and Quentin processed that this was the first time that the other man had used his token nickname. “That wasn’t what you thought, ”

 

Quentin swallowed. “What wasn’t what I thought, El?”

 

Two could play that game. 

 

Eliot’s eyes looked over at the wall for a second ( _ embarrassment?) _ before coming back over to him. “Me and Charlton, it’s not-”

 

Quentin held up his hand. Well, his free hand. Eliot was still very much holding onto his other wrist. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, El. In fact, I’m sorry that I walked in,”

 

_ It’s not what? _

 

From the bottom of the stairs, Julia called their names loudly. Eliot seemed to realize that he was still holding onto Quentin and gently let go.

 

“I just didn’t want you to think…” Eliot trailed off, and shook his head.

 

_ To think what? _

 

If Eliot had truly been wearing vulnerability on his face, it was wiped away and was replaced with the same cheeky grin that he normally wore. “Nevermind, it was stupid.” He even laughed a little. “Come on, Q, let’s go get another drink,” 

 

Eliot slipped his arm around Quentin’s shoulder, not unlike he did with Julia just moments ago, and led them down the stairs to rejoin the party. Quentin tried to shut off the part of his brain that was tumbling around a million different thoughts and a million different feelings at a million miles a second.

 

_ The show comes first. _

 

“Also, are you dressed like Earring Magic Ken?”

 

“Baby, I’m dressed like a 90s gay icon,”


	5. Classes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 points to anyone who can catch the musical theatre reference in the chapter.

Classes started on Wednesday, and Quentin was a little sad for their week of Nothing But Rehearsals to be over. But on the other hand, he was actually excited for his classes, which was new for him.

 

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, he would be busy all day. He worked in the props shop in the morning and then had an hour break before taking Intro to Lighting Design, Play Analysis, and Theatre 100 (which Julia assured him would be the worst class he’d ever take.) Tuesdays and  Thursdays, he only had two classes: Intro to Scenic Design and Theatre History. He’d gotten most of his gen eds out of the way at Yale, and there were a couple of classes that he had to take in the future, but he wanted to throw himself into the theatre department as soon as he could. Theatre majors at Brakebills had their own set of required classes, and he had some catching up to do.

 

Working with Mayakovsky in the Props Shop was going to a perfect way to start the day. The Props Master was a good teacher, even if he was a little snarky and at times, an asshole. (At times meaning most of the time.) But he and Quentin got along well and the old Russian man could say whatever the fuck he wanted as long as he kept letting Quentin do cool stuff. Like, welding back together a broken dagger and making fake books to be used as set dressing and getting started on the flying cat puppet to be used in  _ Peter. _

 

When his shift in Brakebills South was over, he made his way up the stairs and through the hallways and over the mountains and through the woods to the Green Room. Quentin remembered Eliot telling him on his first day that people hung out in there during the day, and he thought it’d be a good place to eat his lunch on his hour long break before going to class in the afternoon. So with his little packed lunch, he pushed through the Green Room doors.

 

Eliot hadn’t been kidding. The room was filled theatre students like it was their own little Hogwarts House Common Room. (Eliot  _ had _ said it was a good place to escape the muggles.) But he did recognize a few of them. Alice politely waved at him as she stood by the humming microwave. Penny was passed out on one of the couches.  Margo was sitting at the table with a slew of paperwork spread out next to her and a burger in front of her. And there, beside her, was Eliot himself.

 

Things hadn’t been necessarily  _ awkward _ between him and Eliot since the 90s Party. Eliot was a grown man who could fuck whoever he wanted and Quentin had only known him for a week. So it’s not like it was a big deal that he had walked in on him finishing up with another guy. A standard party mishap, could’ve happened to anybody.

 

But the memory of Eliot’s long fingers wrapped around his wrist was burned onto his skin. 

 

Julia had tried to warn him that Eliot had a reputation for sleeping around and Quentin still allowed his crush to grow. And he wished he could say that walking in on him with another guy had been enough to squash it for good. But it hadn’t. It had just made his chest ache a little bit.  But in the taller man’s presence, he tried to act like nothing was wrong because nothing  _ was _ wrong. (Or so he told himself.)

 

When Eliot spotted Quentin making his way over to their table, he grinned excitedly.

 

“Q! Happy first day of classes at Brakebills!” Eliot said as Quentin took a seat opposite from them. Margo didn’t look up from whatever she was working on, but she lazily waved.

 

“Thanks,” Quentin said cheerily, unpacking his lunch. “I haven’t actually had any classes yet today though. I’ve just been working in the props shop,”

 

Eliot popped a grape from his own lunch in his mouth. “What’s your schedule like today?”

 

“Intro to Lighting Design at 1:15, Play Analysis right after that, and Theatre 100 after that,”

 

Both Eliot and Margo made a face at the last class. 

 

“Theatre 100 sucks,” Margo rolled her eyes, making notes on her papers.

 

Eliot nodded. “But you’ll have Lighting with me, so that makes up for it!”

 

_ Oh, shit. _

 

“You’re in the intro lighting class?” Quentin took a bite of his PB&J.

 

“Unfortunately,” Eliot huffed. “I put it off til the last second because I didn’t want to take it,” Then he grinned.  _ (and wiggled?)  _ “But I guess it won’t be so bad if you’re with me,”

 

Quentin raised his water to cheers in response.

 

“You guys are taking lighting?” Alice joined in the conversation, setting down her newly warmed up dish on the table. “I’m the TA for the class,”

 

Eliot clapped. “Lovely! The more the merrier,”

 

Alice sat down next to Quentin and the two exchanged awkward smiles. He didn’t really know her like he knew Margo and Eliot, but she was nice enough.

 

“Pretty cool that you get to be TA,” Quentin commented, and Alice shrugged. 

 

“Normally a grad student does it, but Professor Yeager asked me to do it,” 

 

“Of course he did, Kitty Cat,” Margo said, pointing her pencil at the other girl, “You’re the best lighting student we’ve got. He’d be stupid not to,”

 

Alice blushed, and squeaked out a “Thanks!” before digging into her pasta. 

 

Eliot and Quentin exchanged a humorous glance with raised eyebrows.

 

“Well, don’t tell that to Penny Dreadful,” Eliot drawled, eyeing their sleeping classmate.

 

Margo elbowed him. “Oh, leave him alone, El,”

 

Eliot rolled his eyes and returned to his grapes. Quentin dug into his bag of chips, and leaned back in his chair. “What’s up with that rivalry, anyway?”

 

Beside him, Alice grimaced and shook her head. “Let’s not get into that today,”

 

Margo nodded her agreement and Eliot looked….embarrassed. But the kind of embarrassed where he was trying to cover it up with a haughty look to hide his feelings. The kind of embarrassed where he was looking anywhere but Quentin.

 

“At Yale, I had a rival,” Quentin changed the subject, and Margo’s head snapped up to him.

 

“You went to fucking  _ Yale _ before this?” 

 

Quentin nodded.

 

Margo scoffed. “Well thank God you left. Those fucks think they’re  _ sooo _ good just because they’re Yale, but their theatre department sucks,”

 

Eliot hummed his agreement, but Quentin shook his head.

 

“I was never involved in their theatre department. I was a philosophy major,”

 

Eliot gasped. “ _ Philosophy _ ? Of all fucking things?”

 

Quentin laughed and shrugged. Alice held up a hand. “Let’s go back to the rival thing,”

 

“This girl I had a bunch of classes with hated me because I dated her friend and it didn’t end well,” Quentin took a swig of his water. “She took it upon herself to always argue with me in class discussions like she was coming to her friend’s defense or something,”

 

Margo had now completely forgotten her paperwork and was now completely engrossed in Quentin’s story. “Ooh, Q’s got a dark past,” She elbowed Eliot playfully.

 

“Yeah, what’d you do to the friend?” Eliot egged him on, grinning. “Did you dump her on formal night or something spicy like that?”

 

“Him, actually,” Quentin corrected, eyes flitting to Eliot. “I dumped  _ him _ because he was biphobic and The Worst, and then I had sex with his roommate,”

 

“Oh, fuck,” Eliot said under his breath, looking positively dumbstruck.

 

“ _ Damn _ , Coldwater, look at you go,” Margo high fived him. “And here I thought you were a straight virgin,”

 

Quentin groaned. “Can I take the high five back?”

 

“Absolutely not,”

 

Alice left a little bit early for their class so that she could help set it up, and Margo stayed behind to continue working on “unnecessary bullshit,” which left Quentin and Eliot to walk across campus together to the Media Lab where the class was held. Luckily, the first day of classes was a beautiful and bright sunny day, so the pair was actually able to enjoy the trek across the campus sidewalks lined with tall, green trees. 

 

“How are you liking Brakebills so far?” Eliot asked him, and Quentin thought that Eliot looked nice with the sunlight filtering through the trees dancing on his face.

 

“It’s amazing,” he said, truthfully. “Way better than Yale,”

 

“Why did you leave Yale in the first place?” Eliot questioned. 

 

Quentin sighed, and shoved his hands in his pockets. If it had been anyone else, he might have lied to them and said “It just wasn’t right for me! Haha!” But this was Eliot, and he always seemed to bring the truth out of him, despite the short amount of time that he’d known him. Or rather, Quentin wanted him to know the truth, wanted Eliot to see his truth.

 

“I wasn’t in a good mental health place.” Quentin confessed, “And I didn’t really have any friends, which made the depression worse. And I was majoring in philosophy, which made the anxiety worse. And all of the drama with my ex-boyfriend didn’t help, nor did my sex life that happened afterwards, which I like to refer to as A Series of Unfortunate Events. So it was all just kind of a clusterfuck and I dropped out a year and a half in,”

 

Quentin stared at the ground throughout most of his little speech, not having the courage to look at Eliot while he confessed the shit-fest that was his time at Yale. And when he did look up, his breath caught in his throat. Eliot was giving him the  _ softest _ look he’d ever seen in his entire goddamned life. He had to look away and hide his blush behind his hair. 

 

“Well, you’re here now,” Eliot declared, with a certain level of gusto and grandeur. “And you’ve left your troubles far behind you, back there where you climbed on board!” 

 

Quentin laughed. “ Thanks,” he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, “But you really don’t have to try to make me feel better. I mean, we basically just met each other,” 

 

Eliot rolled his eyes, and bumped his shoulder into Q’s. “Well, I bond fast. Time is an illusion, anyway. So, just accept the fact that your life is going to sparkle for decades now that you’ve met me,”

 

The next few weeks certainly did sparkle. 

 

Quentin, for the first time in his life, enjoyed the classes he was taking. He had lighting with Alice and Eliot, Play Analysis with Julia, Kady and Josh, Theatre 100 with Todd (which he couldn’t decide if that was better or worse), Scenic Design with Penny, Josh, and Margo, and Theatre History with the entire gang of theatre majors. He was actually enjoying the material and therefore, actually paying attention during his classes. It was practically a dream come true to be taking theatre classes with people he was slowly becoming friends with after a year and a half of Connecticut Hell. 

 

Well, slowly is not the word he would use to describe how he became friends with Margo and Eliot. While Julia was still his very best friend in the whole wide world, she had made her own friends at Brakebills in the last couple of years. He did not resent that or hold that against her, and was glad that she had a plethora of people she spent her time with. It also meant that he didn’t feel bad that he was spending so much time with Eliot and Margo.

 

Not only did they have their before, during, and after rehearsal time together, and their classes together, and their Monday, Wednesday, Friday lunch hour together, but the older pair had swept Quentin under their wing. Margo decided that he was officially her son and tried to teach him everything that she knew. Whether that meant stage management or where all the elevators were on campus so you wouldn’t have to walk up a hill, she was passing her knowledge onto him. Margo was snarky and tough and he loved being her friend. She was a good influence on his life, making him also braver and tougher and less likely to put up with bullshit.

 

And Eliot...

 

Quentin was trying not to overthink it. Eliot had also swept him under his wing. And under his arm whenever they sat on the couch together in the Green Room. And under his hand constantly, little shoulder touches and head touches and hand touches that made his head want to explode. He had absolutely no idea if Eliot was actually flirting with him or if this was the normal Eliot Waugh touchiness that he was known for. But most of all, Quentin was trying not to think about how the touching levels increased after Quentin caught him and Charlton together and after Quentin confirmed his bisexuality on the first day of classes. He was trying to tell himself that Eliot had just gotten closer to him because they had become really good friends.

 

Because they had. Genuinely and truly, all of Quentin’s mushy feelings aside, Eliot had become his friend. Well, he would hope so after three weeks of eating lunches together and getting dinners together and going to class together and rehearsing together and going to Waffle House after rehearsals together and going to get drinks on their nights off together and hanging out at the Cottage together. Well, Margo and Julia were with them some of the time. But mostly, it was just the two of them.

 

They became such good friends in the month that they’d known each other that Eliot even let it slip that he was from Indiana one night. Which, Quentin didn’t really think was all that big of a deal until he mentioned that confession to Margo while they were building a set of mini stairs in scenic class. Her eyes went wide, and she actually looked around to make sure no one heard it.

 

“He told you about the old homestead?” She hissed.

 

“Uh, yeah,” Quentin wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react. “I was talking about my parent’s divorce and he just started talking about his own parents and stuff. It’s not that big of a deal,”

 

Margo scoffed, and drilled another piece of wood into place. “It  _ is _ a big deal, Q. Eliot doesn’t share his past lightly,” She passed him the drill so that he could do his side, put her hands on her hips, and pursed her lips. The Classic Margo sign that she was thinking. “He must really like you,”

 

Quentin’s two brain cells short circuited for a second, so much so that he actually paused in his drilling. Margo clearly saw his bisexual panic moment, so Quentin quickly looked around the room to see if there was anything of note that he could change the subject to. His eyes landed on Penny, who was currently rolling his eyes at something dumb Josh just said.

 

“So am I ever going to learn about the mysterious Penny rivalry?” 

 

Margo smirked and leaned against the shop table. “I’m sure Julia’s told you all about El’s reputation of being a heartbreaker?”

 

Cue Bisexual Panic Moment #2. “Uhhhhhhhhhhh….”

 

Margo rolled her eyes. “It’s okay, Q. Everyone knows it,”

 

“Then, yes,” He passed the drill back over to her, and she picked a couple screws off the table and began doing the finishing touches on their project. Margo took a moment to glance around the shop, made sure that no one else was paying attention to them, and then leaned into Quentin.

 

“Penny was the original heartbreak.”

 

Margo timed her drilling for the exact moment that Quentin said a very loud “WHAT!”

 

Quentin was sure his eyes were the size of dinner plates as Margo nodded. “They were together for like a month, maybe two, our freshman year. And they were pretty open about it, lots of gross PDA at parties and what not. But Penny thought that they were like….” Margo waved the drill, looked at the ceiling, and sighed, “... _ dating _ dating and Eliot thought that they were just hooking up and having fun. The fallout was  _ surprisingly _ bad and  _ very _ public. Now they kind of both hate each other, and it’s developed into this weird banter that no one understands every time they’re in the same room. And that's how El got the rep for being the High King of Heartbreaks,”

 

“Yikes,” Quentin said, putting their now finished stairs on the ground. He held Margo’s hands as she tested them out. The stairs didn’t collapse underneath her, so they must have done something right. 

 

“Yeah, yikes is fucking right,” Margo said, and they switched places so that Quentin could stand on their mini stairs. “But he wears the crown with pride, or at least, he used to,”

 

“Used to?” He asked as Margo snapped a quick photo of him on the stairs. He posed stupidly. 

 

Margo shrugged. “Yeah, he used to be all about it. We even threw a Royalty Party last year where he dressed as the King of Hearts. But this year he’s been weird about it,”

 

“Oh, do go on,” 

 

Margo huffed, and the duo began cleaning up their work space. “Like, all summer he was hooking up with a bunch of different guys and then once rehearsals started up, he cut off all of them but one.”

 

“Charlton?” Quentin guessed. Margo quirked an eyebrow at him, but didn’t question it.

 

“Yeah. And Charlton had been his boytoy for like, a  _ while _ . But then apparently the night of the 90s Party, he broke up with him,”

 

Cue Bisexual Panic Moment #3. Or maybe this was just regular panic now. “He did?”

 

“Yeah. And El insists that it’s not truly a breakup because they were never really dating, but whatever.” Margo swept the sawdust off of the table and into a bin. “He said that they were like,  _ about  _ to fuck in his room during the party, but he stopped it and broke up with poor half naked Charlton on the spot.”

 

“Oh, fuck,” Quentin said under his breath. Margo nodded.

 

“El said some shit like “It’s not like it meant anything with him,”” Margo did her best Eliot impersonation, and Quentin couldn’t help but smile. He also hoped that smiling would cover the fact that his heart was pounding in his chest. “And then he said that he might want a relationship that actually meant something. Which, granted, we were pretty drunk when he was saying all of this, but still. I’m not sure what happened or  _ who _ happened that made the High King of Heartbreaks want to drop his title, but he sure thinks that he’s done with dumb hookups,”

 

Quentin tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible. “Do you think he meant it?”

 

Margo shook her head. “Not for a second. But I’d like to see him try. That boy has had enough heartbreak to last him fifty years. It’d be nice to see him be happy,”

 

Quentin processed all of the new information as they proudly turned in their finished staircase to the professor, also their Technical Director, and showed him the photo of Quentin standing on the stairs. He processed the timeline of events Margo had laid out for him as he waved goodbye to her and made his way to the parking lot and his car. He processed Eliot’s words to Margo’s compared them to what Eliot almost said at the 90s party as he got in his car and drove home to get dinner before rehearsal. He processed the way Eliot had been acting around him for the last few weeks.

 

He was definitely going to overthink this. 


	6. Tech

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, every team has a Todd

Tech week was coming.

 

And Quentin was already exhausted. The last month of rehearsals and working and classes and driving back and forth for forty-five minutes to his house was beginning to take a toll on him. He was determined to not let it affect the show, however, so he shoved it deep down inside of himself and said that he would sleep after tech week. 

 

Three days before tech began, Sunday, they moved on to the stage. 

 

Margo, Quentin, and Todd showed up two hours before rehearsal to get it ready for the actors. This meant setting up and taping out the prop tables on both sides of the stage, doing a safety walk backstage,  making sure there weren’t any tripping hazards, using thick white gaff tape to mark out any ledges, stairs, or cable, setting up the Green Room in show conditions, setting up chairs backstage, printing out sign in sheets, setting up the callboard, sweeping and mopping the stage, hiding the chocolate from the actors, and so on and so on.

 

This was the kind of work that Quentin enjoyed the most. Working with his hands and doing something physical, not just sitting at his laptop and mindlessly editing paperwork. 

 

Margo enjoyed it too, he could tell. She was in her element, strutting around the backstage and giving orders like it was her birthright. Despite the air of cool composure and royalty that Margo had cultivated for herself, she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. She wasn’t afraid to spend an hour crawling around on her hands and knees, safety taping and picking up loose screws that the shop at left behind. She put herself 100% into her work, and Quentin admired it.

 

Todd, on the other hand, tripped three times in the first hour. 

 

Before the actors began arriving, Margo presented each of them with a gift: black waitress aprons that contained a clip-on flashlight, band-aids, a tiny pack of tissues, safety pins, bobby pins, a highlighter, sharpie, and mints in its pockets. She told them that this was like their mini stage management kits, so that if an actor needed something  _ right then, right there _ , they could be prepared. She also noted that giving an actor a mint was the number one way to make them fall in love with you. Quentin took note of that. 

 

“I’m not gonna force you to wear them if you hate it,” She waved her hand, “But my own apron has been useful to me in the past, and I figured you idiots could get good use out of them,”

 

“You idiots” was Margo code for “People I Care About. Yes, Even You, Todd.”

 

Quentin hugged her and she rolled her eyes.

 

They also got to wear headsets that connected the three of them on comm. Margo was wired into her table out in the house with the director, but he and Todd got little portable headsets. He had to admit, with his headset and his apron and flashlight and his own personal multitool, he felt like kind of a badass. A badass wearing an apron, but a stage management badass. 

 

They decided that during the run of the show, Quentin would be stationed on Stage Left, which was closer to the fly rail, the dressing rooms, Green Room, Prop Closet, Stage Management station, Audio/Visual station, and the stairs to the trap room. 

 

Todd was stationed on Stage Right, which was close to nothing.

 

Their first day in the space was just spacing out the show. Going through, scene by scene, and making sure that everyone knew where they were going and that the spikes for the set pieces were correct. It was kind of tedious and a little boring, and Quentin spent most of the rehearsal pacing back and forth along his side of the stage, keeping his eyes and ears alert for anything that might need attention.

 

One of those things was always Eliot. 

 

“Q, where’s my prop?”

 

“On the prop table, where it belongs.”

 

“Q, how much longer til a break?”

 

“Forty minutes, go pee now while you’re not onstage,”

 

“Q, how is this set piece getting in place?”

 

“Five crew members, which we don’t have yet, so right now, just me,”

 

“Q, I found something that you need to see,”

 

“If you’ve put the cat puppet in a compromising position again, I swear to God-”

 

“Q, tell Bambi I love her,”

 

“She’s a little busy right now,”

 

“Q, have you started the paper for Sutherland yet?”

 

“I’m a little busy right now,”

 

Quentin couldn’t tell if he was being needy as an actor that was a little on edge, with it being their first day in the space, or if it was him being needy as Eliot, who needed his attention.

 

Either way, and even though he…..cared….very deeply about Eliot, the actor’s constant neediness and poking Quentin’s buttons on top of the amount of stress building up in his body was starting to make him cranky. And he didn’t want to be cranky at Eliot. 

 

Also, if it was the first option, he could deal. “There’s no such thing as a diva in theatre,” Margo had told him. “Only actors that need a little extra love and attention. And we give it to them, without judgement or sass, because that’s what they need to do the show.” And there were quite a few actors on the show that needed some extra assistance, and he tried to heed Margo’s words. But if it was the second option, he was going to lose his mind.

 

Ever since Margo told him about the Charlton breakup and Eliot’s wish to be in a more meaningful relationship, his Eliot senses had been going haywire. Every touch contained electricity and every look made his brain go fuzzy and his mere presence made his heart beat faster. His head screamed “Of course he’s not into you, stop being pathetic,” and his heart screamed “Of course he’s into you, have you been paying attention?” and his dick kind of just screamed in general. 

 

But Eliot tended to keep his cards close to his chest, so he wasn’t sure of anything. And if he was wrong, he didn’t want to ruin anything and risk losing someone who was becoming one of his best friends. And he didn’t want to talk to Julia about it, because he didn’t want to face her knowing look and rolled eyes and “I told you so”s and he couldn’t talk to Margo about it because she was Eliot’s soul mate and he couldn’t talk to Eliot about it because it was...Eliot.

 

Two days before tech, Monday, they ran the show and did work notes. 

 

Quentin got four hours of sleep.

 

The day before tech, Tuesday, Margo noticed Quentin’s exhaustion settling in as he was getting a little cranky and zoning out and forgetting things. She pulled him out to the lobby on a break.

 

“What the hell is up with you, Coldwater?” She crossed her arms.

 

Quentin rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m just tired. It’s no big deal,”

 

Margo cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. “Tomorrow is tech, it is a big deal,”

 

Quentin stared at the ground. “I’m just doing a lot of stuff right now with the props shop and this show and school and I’m just fucking tired, okay?” He didn’t mean for his tone to get sharp, but it did. “I leave here at midnight and have to drive almost an hour to my house and then I still have to do homework and I can barely sleep because I’m so stressed. Then I have to wake up at the asscrack of dawn and drive all the way back to campus because I have to work in Brakebills South and it’s just a lot. And also, I didn’t eat a very big dinner and I’m kind of hungry,”

 

It all came spilling out of him at once, and a wave of embarrassment rose up with it. He wouldn’t meet Margo’s eyes. He was expecting her to yell at him again, tell him to suck it up and deal.

 

But instead, she stepped closer and lightly gripped the sides of his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me about all of this sooner, Q?” It still had the same Margo Tone of Authority, but softer. Gentler.

 

Quentin switched his gaze to looking up at the ceiling. “Because it’s stupid,”

 

“It’s not stupid, Quentin,” Margo corrected. He forced himself to meet her eyes. “Everyone has their limits, and you’re hitting yours. There’s no shame in that, but we do have to deal with it like fucking adults instead of sweeping it under the rug. Okay?”

 

Quentin nodded, trying to pretend like he wasn’t blinking a lot. It was pretty dusty in the lobby today.  

 

“So here’s what we’re gonna do,” She said, assuming her Margo Power Pose with her hands on her hips. “You’re gonna call Julia and ask her to bring you some chicken nuggets,”

 

Quentin opened his mouth to protest, but Margo held up a finger.

 

“Julia would do literally anything for you, Coldwater, so don’t even argue with me,” She didn’t wait for his response, but he nodded anyway. “Then, you’re gonna email Mayakovsky and tell him that you can’t come in tomorrow because it’s the first day of tech, and you need to sleep in. You’ve been working your ass off in there for weeks, so there’s no way he could tell you no. Do you have any homework tonight?”

 

Quentin nodded. “A written journal for lighting and a take home quiz for play analysis.”

 

Margo rolled her eyes. “I took both of those classes, and I promise that your grade won’t get fucked up if you miss turning in one of those. Sometimes shit happens and you don’t complete assignments. Your mental health is more important than a stupid quiz,”

 

Quentin was going to have to get her like a really nice gift or something for how nice she was being to him right now. He didn’t know how else he could properly explain what she was doing for him, giving him permission, demanding even, to take care of himself first.

 

“Then tonight,” Margo continued, checking her watch, “When rehearsal is over, instead of staying to help clean up, Eliot’s going to take you home with him and you can sleep in the extra room we have in the Cottage,”

 

“Wait,  _ what?” _

 

“Driving like an hour away would suck normally, but during tech week?” She shook her head. “No way I’m letting you do that. Our old roommate left his bed and shit, so you’ve got a place to crash. And Eliot makes great sleepytime tea,”

 

“But-”

 

“No buts, Q,” Margo wagged her finger at him. “You’re gonna get your damn sleepytime tea and you’re gonna sleep in tomorrow morning and you’re gonna fucking take care of yourself,”

 

There’s no really arguing with Margo when she got like this, so Quentin didn’t. He called Julia (who, of course, was willing to do anything for him) and emailed Mayakovsky (who, of course, could’ve cared less), drank a cup of water at Eliot’s instruction (Margo filled him in while Quentin was on the phone with Julia) and sent a prayer of thanks up to whatever higher power was listening for his friends.

 

So Julia brought him chicken nuggets and he got through the rest of rehearsal without nodding off or snapping at Todd. At the end of the night, he asked Margo over headset one last time that she was sure he didn’t need to stay. 

 

“Get the fuck out, Q,” was her response. So he put up his headset in the A/V Station and stored his apron in the prop closet and waved good night to Todd, who tried to wave back, but was holding a prop and managed to smack himself in the face with it. 

 

Quentin made his way into the Green Room with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder and found Eliot already waiting for him with his own coat and bag on. He had been scrolling on his phone with Quentin walked in, but looked up with a dazzling, yet tired, smile.

 

“Ready to go home, Q?” Eliot said, standing up.

 

_ Fucking Christ, he felt that in his chest. _

 

“Yeah. Where are you parked?” He cleared his throat.

 

“Just out back,” Eliot gestured, and Quentin led the way. “I’m sorry to hear that you haven’t been... feeling well,” Eliot commented as they made their way into the warm night air.

 

Quentin shrugged. “It’s not that-”

 

“Quentin Alexander Coldwater, if you say “It’s not that big of a deal” I have permission from Margo Hanson to fight you with these bare hands,” Eliot said as they approached his car.

 

Quentin laughed and rolled his eyes. “Fine, but my middle name isn’t Alexander,”

 

“Well I had to say something,” Eliot grinned as he unlocked his car. “What is it, really?”

 

“Makepeace,”

 

“Quentin Makepeace Coldwater?” Eliot said, to the same cadence that he said his name the very first day they met. “What the hell kind of name is that?” They threw their bags in Eliot’s backseat and settled into the car, both still laughing about Quentin’s ridiculous name. 

 

Eliot turned on his car, plugged in his phone, and opened his music.

 

“What soundtrack do you wanna listen to?” Eliot asked, scrolling through his albums.

 

“Something modern, but like, past Sondheim or Weber.” Quentin replied, leaning over the middle console to peer over Eliot’s shoulder at his phone. He did it without thinking, but the second he did, he realized how close they were to each other. Eliot looked up at him and their eyes locked. 

 

Their faces were very, very close together. 

 

Quentin’s eyes darted down to Eliot’s lips.

 

Eliot inhaled and for a second, Quentin thought that he moved forward.

 

“Do you wanna listen to _Once_?” Eliot asked, softly.

 

_ Uh oh. That’s a romance _ . 

 

“Pass,” Quentin returned to his own bubble. “How about like,  _ Spring Awakening _ ?” 

 

So, they jammed out to “The Bitch of Living” as they pulled out of the parking lot. With one hand on the wheel and the other arm lazily leaning on the console, Eliot navigated them through campus. Quentin tried very hard not to think about how incredibly sexy it was.

 

“For real though, Q,” Eliot said, gently, “I wish you had told me, or…..us,”

 

“I, um,” Quentin looked out the window at the passing street lights. He very much wanted to write it off or to lie or shove down his emotions. But this was Eliot. And he was trying to be braver and more honest. “I know,” He confessed. “I was just trying to handle it all on my own,”

 

“I understand. And I’m sorry if I’ve been a little... _ much _ recently. I’m just very…” Eliot took a deep breath, turning on the road that ran alongside the river. ‘I’m nervous. About this role,”

 

“What?” Quentin turned back to him. “El, you’re a fantastic actor and absolutely killing it.”

 

The corners of Eliot’s mouth tugged upwards, just ever so slightly, and he gave Quentin a look with soft eyes. “You’re very generous,”

 

Eliot turned again, onto a long, long bridge that crossed the river. There were tall, orange street lights that lined the bridge, creating a soft, warm glow in the dark night. They rode in silence, listening to the soundtrack (and of course the next song would be fucking “Touch Me,”), and Quentin’s mind was racing as fast as the car. 

 

Quentin watched Eliot as he drove. Even though he was posed lazily, his face showed that he was concentrating. Or rather, he was focused. His face passed in and out of street lights as they drove in an endless cycle of warmth and shadow, warmth and shadow. His profile in this lighting was breathtaking.  _ He  _ was breathtaking. Everything about him always managed to snatch the air out of Quentin's lungs. 

 

He wished that they could have driven on that bridge for forever, soaking in the glow of the street lamps and the silence of each other’s presence. He wished he had the courage to reach out and take Eliot’s hand, which was just sitting there, begging to be held. He wished he could find the words to accurately to describe the feelings that were blossoming in his chest. And then he wished he had the courage to speak the words that were itching their way up his throat that would confess those feelings to Eliot and ask, “Do you feel it too?”

 

But they turned off the bridge and back down another dark road.

 

And he stayed silent. 

 

Then it was Wednesday, the first day of tech.

 

Turns out, sleeping at the Cottage was the best medicine he could’ve asked for. Eliot  _ did  _ make great sleepy time tea (or at least, bought a really good brand) and Quentin enjoyed softly talking with him over the kitchen counter as they drank their tea together. He enjoyed saying goodnight to Eliot as he closed his door behind him and he enjoyed crashing on the extremely comfy bed in their spare room. He enjoyed waking up naturally, with the sunlight pouring into his window after a full eight hours of sleep. And he really enjoyed going downstairs in the morning to find Eliot wearing a silk robe and cooking breakfast.

 

It put him in an incredible mood for the rest of the day, and it carried all the way to tech that evening. Margo commented on it, when he arrived. Quentin simply grinned and handed over her usual Starbucks drink and a cake pop, which she didn’t ask for.

 

“A thank you for yesterday,” he said as she gave him a questioning look.

 

Her face split into a bashful, wide grin as she gratefully took it from him. “Shut the fuck up,” 

 

And that put Margo in a good mood for the first day of tech. 

 

Tech was….tech. It was long. And tiring. And hard.

 

Quentin had never been through a professional tech before, so he got to learn all about the process. How they started from the top of the show, with actors in costumes, and added in all the lights, sounds, projections, fly, and scenic cues. Scene by scene, cue by cue, running it through, putting together a cohesive show instead of just a bunch of actors in street clothes dicking around. And Quentin (and Todd, too, a little bit) had to train a whole crew of undergrads how to run the show and where to put the props and when to stand out of the way while the entire cast made a dashing exit into the wings.

 

It was mostly people he didn’t know, but Julia was the Wardrobe Crew Supervisor, as the Assistant Costume Designer, so it was great to have her there. Since Quentin was the ASM, he was in charge of the deck crew and the fly crew, so he and Julia were able to work side by side as leaders backstage, just like they used to do in high school.

 

Todd was there, too. 

 

Penny, Josh, and Kady had also volunteered to be on the crew, with Penny as the light board operator, Josh on sound, and Kady on fly crew. Everyone else were just undergrads, most of whom had never worked a show before. So it was a lot of telling people what to do and taking charge. Which Quentin could absolutely do, but it was not his cup of tea.

 

_ (What was his cup of tea was the mug that Eliot handed him on their ten minute break, already hot and steamy by the time he got to the Green Room with his headset around his neck. What was absolutely his cup of tea was Eliot in his sexy, swashbuckling Blackbeard costume.) _

 

They actually got pretty far into the show, for it being the first night. They made it halfway through act one, which was where Margo had placed her bets, so she was satisfied. Quentin and Todd lead the crew through their shut down duties as Margo led a production meeting with the designers out in the house, and they actually left the theatre at a decent time.

 

Quentin stayed at the Cottage again. 

 

And he stayed there the next night, Thursday.

 

And the next night, Friday.

 

And then it was Saturday, the day of their 10/12. That mean that they were going to be rehearsing for ten hours of their twelve hour work day, with two hour long breaks for lunch and dinner. By that point, they had teched through most of the show, and planned on doing their first dress run that evening. And then, Margo and Eliot were throwing a party that night. They had been talking about it for a while, but they brought it up again on the lunch break.

 

“It’s tradition,” Eliot said, sitting against a tree outside. They’d all decided to get some sunlight and warmth between their long hours in the cold, dark theatre. And “they all” being Julia, Quentin, Margo, and Eliot. “10/12 Parties are the perfect way for everyone to release their stress and emotions that have been building up throughout Hell Week. Everyone’s tired and wired and ready to get fucked up,”

 

Margo rolled her eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t call it hell week. Tech is fun!”

 

“Yeah,” Eliot was back at it again with his grapes, “If you’re the stage manager. If you’re an actor, it can be a little boring,”

 

“You’re boring,” Margo shot at him.

 

“You’re boring,” Eliot parroted back with a teasing smile. 

 

“Anyways,” Margo flicked a chip at Eliot before turning to Quentin, “Are you cool with the party?”

 

“Me?” Quentin said through a mouthful of sandwich.

 

“Yes, you. You basically live with us, so are you cool with the party?”

 

Julia raised an eyebrow. “What, now?”

 

“Quentin’s been crashing in our spare room this week instead of driving back and forth to his basement,” Eliot clarified, switching from grapes to strawberries and eating them in a way that was just sexy enough that Quentin couldn’t stop staring.

 

Julia gave Quentin a delighted look. “Q, that’s great!”

 

Eliot looked up into the trees. “Yeah, we like having him around,”

 

“It is nice to not have to waste so much gas,” Quentin said. “But, uh, yeah, Margo. I’m fine with the party,”

 

“Hey, here’s a thought,” Margo mused, pointing a fry at Quentin. “Why don’t you move in, like,  for real?” 

 

Eliot leaned forward and gave a very concise “Yes.”

 

“Uhhhhh,” was all Quentin said, and Margo shrugged.

 

“You don’t have to decide right now. But like, you’re welcome to keep your shit there and keep crashing there, and maybe after we open, you could move in for real,” Margo said.

 

Julia elbowed him. “That would be fucking fantastic. You’ve literally been complaining about your danky basement since the moment you moved in,”

 

Quentin’s eyes flicked back to Eliot for a second, who was now sitting straight up and nodding enthusiastically. Quentin’s heart ached.

 

“Tell you what,” Quentin declared. “If I survive the rest of today and the rest of this week in one piece, we’ll talk some more,”

 

The rest of the group cheered, and Quentin couldn’t help but laugh. 

 

“And on that note,” Margo checked her watch and stood up, “We better get back in,”

 

The other three groaned, and Margo flipped them off as she made her way back towards the theatre. Julia wasn’t far behind her, but Quentin and Eliot had to pack up their trash and leftovers. Quentin stood up before the other man did, and he was less than surprised when Eliot said: “Q, wait, help me up,”

 

Quentin smiled and rolled his eyes. Eliot, for as talented of an actor as he was, was also a lazy motherfucker. He often requested Quentin’s assistance in helping him up off the ground, and Quentin always complained about it. Eliot was taller than anyone else he knew, and just sitting down, he was already halfway up. But he held out his hand and Eliot gripped it tight.

 

Quentin tugged his friend and Eliot came bouncing up, and straight into Quentin. He didn’t bounce up with enough force to knock him over or anything like that, but it did close the distance between them until they were chest to chest, with their clasped hands being the only thing that was separating them. Quentin stared up at Eliot with wide eyes.

 

A breath passed between them.

 

Eliot dropped his hand and cleared his throat, stepping away and putting on the devilish smile that he was known for.  “See you in there, Coldwater,” He said as he swankered away. 

 

Quentin watched him go, missing the warmth of his hand in his own. 


	7. The Dionysus Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of you have noted that I update fast! I was mostly able to do that because I was between gigs, and I started rehearsals for my next show today. So I'm still gonna try to update quickly because I love this fic with my whole heart and soul (can you tell? lol) but updates might take a little while longer than the first six chapters because I have to be a theatre person in real life haha.
> 
> This story, like most plays, is split into two acts, and has always been planned to be this way, from the moment I started writing it. This chapter concludes this act, and if I had to title Act One, I would title it “Tender.”

The rest of the 10/12 went by easy. And at 9:00 PM, they were done. 

 

Quentin wanted nothing more than to collapse on the floor and stay there for the next twelve hours. Well, he got halfway there. He did, indeed, lay down on the stage after he had dismissed his crew and put out the ghostlight while he waited on his friends. Eliot was still getting out of costume and Julia was starting laundry and Margo was running the production meeting and it was Todd’s turn to clean up the Green Room and Quentin?

 

He laid on the floor.

 

He laid there for five? Ten minutes? He wasn’t keeping track. 

 

But eventually, he felt someone lightly kicking his shoe.

 

“No Floor Time tonight, Quentin,” It was Margo. “We have a party to get ready for,” 

 

With a groan, Quentin dragged himself off the floor, grabbed his backpack, and helped her lock up. They locked all the doors around the theatre and turned out all the lights and found Alice and Eliot waiting for them in the Green Room.

 

“Alright, plan of attack,” Margo commanded the room. “Kitty Cat and I are going to go decorate the house while Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass,” She pointed at Quentin and Eliot, “Go get the drinks and some snacks, because Mama’s hungry,”

 

“I want to be Tweedle Dee,” Quentin held up a finger, but Margo shook her head. 

 

“You’re obviously Tweedle Dumbass,” She stated, and the other two nodded. Quentin huffed.

 

“Wait, what theme did we decide on, Bambi?” Eliot asked. Margo rolled her eyes.

 

“Am I the only competent one right now- it’s Dionysus themed, El. We talked about this. Everyone wearing togas, purple punch, those prop vines that we stole hung up everywhere-”

 

“Um, what?” Quentin tried to interrupt, but Margo ignored him.

 

“- and getting absolutely shitfaced in the name of theatre. It’s the perfect 10/12 party,”

 

Now Alice raised her hand. “But, Margo, I don’t own a toga,”

 

She threw up her hands, exasperated. “You own a sheet, don’t you?”

 

“Bambi,” Eliot scolded, and Margo waved him down.

 

“I know, I know, sorry,” She gave them all a begrudgingly apologetic look, “Once I get some food, the Angry Bitch will calm down and I’ll go back to being the Regular Bitch,” She clapped her hands. “And squads roll out! We’ve got an hour and a half until the party starts!”

 

Margo dragged Alice out by the hand, and Quentin and Eliot grinned at each other. Miss “Don’t Accuse Me of Catching Feelings” had become pretty close to their little lighting friend recently. And it was no surprise that Alice had volunteered to help set up for the party. 

 

Quentin’s own love life was at a bit of an awkward stalemate at the moment, so it was nice to see something blossoming between his friends. 

 

First, they hit the 24 Hour Walmart on campus, and loaded up. Mixers for the punch, cheetos, pretzels, chips and dip, and a whole pizza for Margo, you name it, they bought it. At one point, Quentin tried to reach for a bottle of wine, but Eliot swatted his hand away.

 

“It’s the Dionysus Party, Q. If there was ever a party to try the punch, this is it,”

 

And Quentin trusted Eliot and his bartending abilities, so he promised to try it. 

 

Next they went to the liquor store, where Eliot took the lead. Quentin didn’t know jack shit about liquor, but he was happy to trail around the store behind Eliot as the actor grabbed a few very big bottles. He didn’t really pay attention to what he was getting, but he did see the label of a couple of them. (Everclear?) Not that it mattered. He was going to drink it anyway.

 

By the time they got back to the Cottage, Margo and Alice had hung up the fake vines everywhere, and it looked pretty good. Margo also had an assorted collection of leopard print blankets, which were tacked up to the walls like tapestries. Alice had come in clutch with the lighting, and brought her own strings of purple Christmas lights. 

 

“It looks fit for a god, Bambi,” Eliot said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and kissing the top of her head. 

 

She grinned. “We did do a pretty damn good job,” She then turned around and waved them all upstairs. “Time to get dressed! People will start arriving soon!”

 

They followed their marching orders and clunked upstairs. 

 

In the last few days that he’d been staying at the Cottage, Quentin had efficiently claimed the spare bedroom. He’d gone back to his house Thursday afternoon and grabbed a duffle bag’s worth of stuff so that he could have some of his clothing, shower stuff, favorite blanket, textbooks, and whatnot. He had to admit, he really liked the idea of living at the Cottage. It was closer to campus and excellent street parking. It had sunlight coming in through the windows, as opposed to his dark basement, which was good for his mental health. And he wouldn’t be living with strangers, he would be living with-

 

“Q, can you help me real quick?” Eliot’s voice came from the hallway.

 

Quentin opened his  bedroom door and found a shirtless Eliot waiting for him. 

 

_ Oh, fuck me. _

 

Eliot was holding up a large white sheet and gave him the most pathetic puppy dog eyes that Quentin had ever seen in his life. “I don’t know how to make a toga,”

 

“And you think that I do?” Quentin opened up the door wider for Eliot to come in. Eliot brushed past him and he got a whiff of the other man’s cologne, which was… musky and sexy and filled his nostrils. Which, shouldn’t be a sexy thought, but the scent of Eliot consumed him, so it was.

 

It was gonna be a long fucking night if Eliot kept this up. 

 

“You’re a nerd,” Eliot shrugged. “I figured you knew at least  _ something _ ,”

 

Quentin wanted to protest, but... “Okay, fine, I do,” He gestured for Eliot to hand over the sheet. “Jules and I did a project about Hellenic theatre in high school, and we had to make costumes,”

 

“Ah hah!” Eliot threw the sheet at him. “Also get the fuck out of here with that “Hellenic” theatre shit, you can just say Ancient Greece, Q,”

 

Quentin laughed, began fussing with the sheet, and said without thinking: “Maybe I was just trying to impress you,”

 

_ Fuck. _

 

Eliot’s eyebrows skyrocketed and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Maybe it’s working,”

 

_ Fuck Fuck Fuck _

 

“Alright, get over yourself,” Quentin rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smile behind his hair. He held up the sheet and gestured for Eliot to step forward, which he did, and held out his arms to be dressed. Quentin then moved to put the sheet on him, but hesitated. “Can I… um….”

 

“Hmm?” was all Eliot said.

 

“Can I put it… I mean, can I…”

 

_ Can I touch you? _

 

Eliot was clearly delighted in Quentin’s awkwardness, and grinned. “Q, I literally came in here asking for your help,” 

 

“I know, I know,” Quentin ran his hand through his hair. “I just wanted to make sure I had your, um, uhhh, consent,”

 

Eliot reached out and lightly ran his thumb over Quentin’s chin. “You’re very sweet, Q.”

 

_ Fuck. Is that allowed? _

 

“Now put the damn sheet on me,” Eliot said, putting his arms up again to be dressed. So, Quentin compiled and began draping the sheet over his taller companion. He wrapped it over his shoulder and twisted it around his midriff and tried not think about how his fingers were brushing Eliot’s skin.

 

He tried not to think about Eliot’s breath, so close to him that he could feel it.

 

He tried not to think about Eliot’s scent drifting towards him and engrossing him.

 

He tried not to think at all, actually.

 

He grabbed some safety pins he’d brought home from his apron for this very party and secured the sheet at Eliot’s shoulder (trying not to brush his collar bone) and his waist (trying not to touch literally anything) and only mildly succeeding. When he was done, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. It looked like a toga, and Eliot looked like he belonged in it.

 

“Okay, your turn,” Eliot said, snatching the sheet off Quentin’s bed.

 

“Oh, I, um-” Quentin stumbled out, not entirely sure why he was protesting. 

 

Eliot turned back to him from the bed, sheet in his hands. “Unless, you don’t want to,” He said it completely seriously, no judgement, just a straight up:  _ “If you say so, I’ll back off,” _

 

“No, I want to,” He said a little too quickly. A blush creeped up his cheek as he stripped off his own shirt, and dropped it to the floor with an awkward smile, baring himself. 

 

This was not how he imagined getting naked with Eliot for the first time.

 

Not that they were actually, fully naked right now.

 

And not that he had imagined it.

 

_ Fuck. _

 

Eliot, after making sure that Q was cool with it, wrapped the sheet around him with ease, mimicking the style that Quentin had done on him. He was so focused on getting it just right that he didn’t even pay attention to the fact that Quentin was staring at him, watching the way his sharp eyes and furrowed brow focused on what his hands were doing, and the way they were flitting all over Quentin’s body. 

 

“Yours is gonna have to wrap a little differently than mine did, since you’re a bit smaller than me,” Eliot said, a safety pin sticking out of his mouth. “Turn around so I can get it in the back,”

 

_ Jesus Fucking Christ. _

 

But he complied, and as Eliot tugged at the fabric around his waist to bring it around, he tried to think neutral thoughts.

 

Neutral thoughts, neutral thoughts, not anything hot and steamy or Eliot related.

 

And then Eliot’s fingers brushed the small of his back and he shivered.

 

“Oh, come on, Q,” Eliot laughed. “We don’t keep it that cold in the house,”

 

_ You asshole _ .

 

“Well it’s about to be hot as fuck in here,” Quentin said, meaning with the amount of people they were about to have over and the drinking and the dancing. But then he realized the other implications of what he said.

 

_ Fuuuuck. _

 

“Hmm, indeed,” Eliot said, “Okay, you’re all done, Q,”

 

Side by side, they looked at themselves in the mirror in his room. They looked good together. 

 

As in, their togas looked good and were slightly matching. 

 

Not that they looked good like,  _ together, _ together.

 

_ Fucking get it together, Coldwater. _

 

Downstairs, they heard Margo call their names. 

 

“I guess that’s our cue,” Eliot said, touching Quentin’s shoulder casually as he left the room and started to make his way downstairs. Quentin sighed, pulled his hair up into a bun, and ran a hand over his face. It was going to be a long night. 

 

Margo and Alice hadn’t taken as long to get into their togas, so they were already downstairs and sharing the pizza. Which, Margo was  _ sharing _ her food, which never happened. Julia had also arrived, wearing a toga and a golden crown and truly looking like a goddess. The three girls sat at the kitchen island, and perked up when the boys walked in.

 

“Fucking finally,” Margo said, skimming through the albums on her phone to pick their music. “El, that punch isn’t going to make itself,”

 

Eliot waved his hand at her and made his way into the kitchen. 

 

“Q, look at you in your little toga,” Julia grinned at him, and he did a little twirl.

 

“Handiwork of yours truly,” Eliot called over his shoulder as he poured a whole ass bottle of something into the drink stand.

 

Quentin rolled his eyes. “Okay, but I’m the one who showed you how to do it,”

 

“I thought I recognized them!” Julia said, “From our project about Ancient Greece!”

 

Eliot dumped a bottle of purple grape juice into the container. “See, she says it normal,”

 

“Shut up, El,”

 

“If I don’t get some alcohol right the fuck now,” Margo groaned.

 

Eliot poured in more grape juice at the same time as some Sprite, and stuck his lower lip out at her. “Patience, Bambi. Let Daddy work,” He teased, tossing those bottles aside and grabbing another one of the bottles he bought at the liquor store.

 

“Does anyone actually call you Daddy beside yourself?” Julia asked, reaching across the counter to get to the chips and dip. She didn’t quite have long enough arms to reach, so Alice passed it to her and the two of them dug into it.

 

Eliot winked at her.  “Wouldn’t you like to know, Hoolia?”

 

“Yeah, that’s why I fucking asked,”

 

Eliot lightly tossed the cap of a now empty bottle at her. “No one at the present moment, but the night is still young,”

 

_ Fucking Hell. _

 

Eliot stirred his concoction with a giant wooden spoon and poured a little bit into a red solo cup. (“Dionysus would want us to go classic party style, Q.”) He took a little sip of it, and then made a face, like he was thinking. He held it out to Quentin.

 

“Q, tell me what you think,” 

 

Quentin took it without question and took a sip. He also made a face. “It’s a little strong on the grape juice front,” He decided as he handed it back over.

 

“That’s what I thought, too,” Eliot said, opening up their fridge to see what else he could find.

 

“How comes he gets some?” Margo protested.

 

Eliot grinned at her while he worked more on the punch. “Q doesn’t know shit about drinks, so he’s like a base pallet,”

 

“It’s true,” Quentin chimed in.

 

“And besides,” Eliot took another sip, “It has to be perfect for my Bambi,”

 

Eliot nodded and passed the drink to Quentin, who drank it eagerly. It was much better. He said so to Eliot, who excitedly clapped and then poured drinks for everyone. Margo, despite being so eager for her drink, insisted that they toasted.

 

“To good friends who keep you sane during tech week,” She said, giving them all the Margo Look of “I Care About You, But You Can’t Prove It” and raised her glass. “You idiots are what kept me going and I couldn’t have done it without you,”

 

She smiled a little bit more sweetly at Alice, who bumped her shoulder.

 

“To friendship!” Julia cheered.

 

“To Team Stage Management!” Quentin grinned.

 

“To Dionysus!” Eliot cried.

 

They all clinked their glasses, drank, and then the party began. 

 

Over the course of half an hour, their friends and classmates filtered into the Cottage. The party had about half as many people as the 90s party did, as it was mostly  _ Peter  _ people, but it was twice as wild.

 

Eliot hadn’t been kidding, it was like all the theatre majors had been bottling up their stress and emotions for the past week and were now going buck wild. Quentin felt like they were all truly living up to the party theme, and honoring the God of Theatre. Not only was everyone completely drunk off their ass, but there was a certain level of chaos running throughout the room. First of all, seeing all of his friends in togas was fucking hysterical. And seeing them in togas while doing stupid shit was even better. 

 

Julia and Kady had definitely made out on the couch for an extended period of time before a very drunk Penny tried to also sit on the couch and loudly protested their antics. Margo at one point, stood on the table and just started talking about how tall she was and how easily she could touch the ceiling. Alice was a giggling mess. Josh had spent the last hour ferociously dancing in the middle of the room, head banging, all by himself. Eliot was singing along to like, every single song, giving it a full 120% performance.

 

Which, Quentin couldn’t complain about because the man had a voice like sex. And Quentin, despite having had lots of snacks before hand, and despite a vague memory of Julia’s warning about the punch before his first Cottage party, was absolutely wasted.

 

Not wasted where he was like, out of control of his body or blacking out. Just to the point where his senses were going haywire, and everything was just slightly spinny. The music and the lights and the bodies around him were all a Lot(™) at once.

 

He put all of his energy into focusing on what was happening around him, committing it to memory so he could recall everything tomorrow.

 

Margo stood back on the table.

 

“To the cast and crew of  _ Peter and the Starcatcher _ !” Margo raised her glass.

 

“To our amazing stage manager!” Eliot screamed.

 

Everyone cheered and drank.

 

Eliot, smiling in the dim light.

 

Whoops and hollers echoed throughout the room. 

 

Eliot winked at Quentin, playful, teasing.

 

Alice helped Margo off the table.

 

Quentin, getting another drink.

 

Alice, badly rapping along to Hamilton.

 

Julia, telling him over and over that he was her best friend.

 

“Seasons of Love” playing and everyone singing along.

 

Eliot, singing while holding a remote as his microphone.

 

Margo, doing shots in the kitchen.

 

Eliot, singing while making eye contact with Q.

 

Alice, giggling while playing with the light switches.

 

Quentin, playing with Eliot’s hair.

 

Julia, grinding on Kady.

 

Eliot’s toga barely clinging to his body.

 

Josh, sitting on the floor and eating out of the cheetos bag.

 

Eliot’s hand on his shoulder.

 

Penny on the back porch, yelling about how dope the stars looked.

 

Eliot, crashing onto the couch after the Time Warp.

 

Margo, kissing Alice against the wall. 

 

Quentin, sitting next to Eliot on the couch.

 

Penny, wearing one of the leopard print blankets like it was a cape.

 

Quentin, pressing into Eliot’s side.

 

Margo, tugging Alice by the hand, out of the room and up the stairs.

 

Eliot’s hand on his knee.

 

Julia and Kady yelling at each other.

 

Quentin’s breath catching in his throat.

 

Josh trying to break it up the fight.

 

A wandering hand.

 

Julia and Kady yelling at Josh.

 

Locked eyes. 

 

Penny calling an uber for everyone.

 

Hushed voices.

 

Josh taking an entire bag of pretzels from their kitchen as he left.

 

A question.

 

Julia and Kady arguing as they were ushered out by Penny.

 

An answer.

 

Quentin woke to the sunlight streaming into his window. 

 

It took a moment to process the fact that was, indeed, awake. His head felt like made of cement and he felt like there was a weight on his body and his throat screamed for a glass of water. And he was on his back, which was weird. He normally slept on his side. And it was bright in the room, too bright, like he’d forgotten to close the curtains in his room before going to bed. And then he realized he wasn’t in  _ his _ bed. These sheets felt unfamiliar and the walls were a different color and all of the smells in the room were completely different and his foggy brain wasn’t giving him any of the answers that he needed. 

 

What the  _ fuck _ had happened last night?

 

Still too sore and tired to fully sit up in bed, Quentin turned his head, trying to get a clue as to where he was. And he only needed to turn his head a little bit to get his answer.

 

He was definitely not in his own bed.

 

And he was sharing the bed with someone else.

 

Someone else who was the weight on his body, 

 

Long arm draped across his torso,

 

And legs entangled with his own.

 

Someone who was a 

 

very

 

very 

 

naked 

 

Eliot.

 

_ Fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Act Two, or as I like to call it: "Feral."


	8. Act Two: Feral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive shoutout to missberryisbest for helping me with this chapter for like the last three days. She's a rockstar!
> 
> Also we've officially switched to a more ~mature~ rating now that we're in act two. I wonderoust whyeth that coulds't beyeth. We'll just have to wait and see!

Eliot woke to his pillows moving underneath him.

 

Which was pretty weird. 

 

But he wrote it off as a dream and snuggled down into them. His pillows stilled.

 

His pillows were also warm.

 

And firm.

 

And smelled like…

 

Quentin.

 

Which was weird.

 

Why would his pillows smell like Quentin? 

 

Flashes of the night before came rushing back to him.

 

His hand wandering up Quentin’s thigh.

 

Meeting his eyes, trying to be brave.

 

Quentin’s breath in his ear, asking.

 

Eliot tugging him by the hand, up the stairs, answering.

 

And every answer and touch and kiss and lick and bite and moan after that.

 

And all the entwined fingers and whispered nothings after that.

 

His eyes snapped open, and he was greeted by the sight of Quentin Coldwater’s face in the sunlight. And for a brief moment, he was struck by a warm feeling in his chest.

 

_ (Eliot roughly pulling down Q’s boxers) _

 

And then he saw the panicked look on Quentin’s face.

 

_ (Quentin pulling off Eliot’s toga with quaking fingers) _

 

He’d known Quentin for a while now, and he recognized that look on his face. It was the look of his brain turning too many cogs all at once. He was on the verge of panicking. And Eliot also knew that when Quentin’s face made  _ that _ face, it meant that he was starting to get overwhelmed, and he tended to feel claustrophobic and trapped. Quentin also wouldn’t quite meet his eyes, which was normal for whenever he got like this, but just increased Eliot’s worry.

 

And so even though he wanted nothing more than to hug his- or,  _ um,  _ the- sweet little nerd to his chest, he detangled his limbs from Quentin’s, sat up, and pushed his own feelings aside.

 

And he had a lot of feelings.

 

_ (the way their bodies fit together) _

 

Like, more than he normally had about people he slept with.

 

And holy fuck, he’d slept with Quentin.

 

Holy  _ fuck _ , he’d  _ slept _ with  _ Quentin. _

 

There was a fluttering in his chest as he thought about that-

 

_ (their moans muffled against his silk sheets) _

 

-but he shoved it aside for now. Because Q was still there, looking down instead of at Eliot.

 

Quentin was staring at his hands with such a fierce intensity, it was as if he was purposefully avoiding Eliot’s gaze. And Eliot couldn’t quite place what the furrowed brow and dark eyes meant, despite having recognized the meaning behind the panic in his earlier expression.

 

Was it fear?

 

Was it regret?

 

Eliot bit his lip, trying to think of something to say. 

 

“So, uh…” Quentin cleared his throat. “That….happened,”

 

The words came out stilted, and sounded nothing like what Eliot was used to hearing from someone the morning after-

 

_ (his lips on Quentin’s collarbone) _

 

-whatever last night was.

 

Especially when that someone was Quentin Coldwater. So, that wasn’t a good sign.

 

“It….happened,” Eliot confirmed, and he had never felt so awkward in his life. 

 

And he was Eliot  _ Fucking _ Waugh.

 

He had never felt this awkward about a hookup before. He was the High King of Heartbreaks for fucks sake, he was the champion of casual party sex with the nearest consenting warm body. 

 

So this should be no big deal, right?

 

Except…

 

Beside him, Quentin bit his lip.

 

This was different.

 

This was  _ Quentin. _

 

_ (Q placing kisses down his shivering body) _

 

“Can we…” Quentin began, “Can we talk about it?” 

 

There was a slight waver in his voice and Eliot had to turn away from him.

 

Panic flickered in his chest. Eliot wasn’t fucking equipped for this. 

 

For dealing with Quentin, naked in his bed. 

 

( _ his hands on Quentin’s trembling thighs) _

 

Quentin, who just wanted to talk. And talking was a big no-no for Eliot. Especially talking about  _ feelings _ , because that meant that he had to know what he wanted.

 

And he had no fucking idea what he wanted.

 

Well, that wasn’t true.

 

He wanted  _ Quentin _ . 

 

He wanted, no, he  _ needed _ Quentin in his life. In any way, shape, or form. If that meant just as friends, or house mates, or, fuck, even just coworkers, that was fine. Eliot could handle that. He’d be  _ more _ than fine with any kind of arrangement as long as it kept Quentin within arms reach. 

 

If that meant as something more….

 

Eliot couldn’t risk it.

 

He couldn’t risk losing Quentin over something as stupid as a drunk party hook up. 

 

So he did the only thing he knew how to do.

 

He donned his crown.

 

Like flicking a switch, Eliot changed his expression. He wiped away the pensive and brooding look he knew that he was wearing and replaced it with a lighthearted smile. “What is there to talk about?” He turned back to Quentin, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “We got drunk at party and slept together,”   
  


His stomach twisted and turned-

 

“You’re welcome, by the way, for a classic Eliot Waugh experience,” 

 

-every word felt sour coming off his tongue.

 

_ (the salty taste of Quentin on his tongue) _

 

He couldn’t face Q after delivering that fucking line--seriously, what the fuck had he been thinking? ‘A classic Eliot Waugh experience’? Fucking hell--Eliot turned and grabbed his briefs off the floor. As he was putting them on, he heard the soft response.  

 

“Okay, uh,” Eliot turned around just in time to see Quentin tucking his chin into his chest. “Yeah, okay,” Quentin said, absentmindedly brushing his fingers over the bridge of his nose. 

 

Eliot’s heart sank.

 

_ You’re fucking this all up. _

 

Eliot perched on the edge of the bed, needing to be closer to Quentin. Just...  _ needing. _

 

When the bed sank under his weight, Quentin looked up at him with soft eyes.

 

There was a pang in Eliot’s chest.

 

“Q, we had a good time,” Eliot said, slowly, choosing every word carefully. “It was fun. I don’t regret it and I hope you don’t either,”

 

_ Was that really it?  _

 

_ (holding Quentin close as he drifted off to sleep) _

 

_ Just fun?  _

 

“So let’s not over think it, yeah?” Eliot shrugged and casually looked around the room. “We can blame it on Dionysus,” He said, trying to tease, trying to give Quentin an out. 

 

_ Just laugh and everything will be okay, Q. _

 

Quentin didn’t laugh.

 

The corners of Quentin’s mouth did tug upwards in a small smile and he nodded, but it was clunky and awkward, like he was trying to force himself to join in on the joke.

 

“Uh, yeah,” Quentin began searching the floor for his own underwear, “Dionysus will do that to you,” He said, like he was trying to mimic Eliot’s teasing tone, but it just came up flat. 

 

“Exactly,” Eliot laughed. “You get it,”

 

Quentin all but lunged for his boxers and shoved them on, facing away from Eliot. 

 

Eliot tried to look anywhere except the muscles of Quentin’s back-

 

_ (his nails dragging down that back) _

 

-and began digging in his dresser for fresh clothes. His brain scrambled for something else to say, anything to make all of this less shitty and awkward. It was all too much for him and he needed five  _ fucking _ minutes to collect his thoughts. Just… time to pull himself together before he made everything worse. Worse than he already had. 

 

And then he smelled bacon.

 

_ Perfect. _

 

“I smell Margo cooking,” Eliot said, grateful for something outside of this moment to talk about, “We always eat breakfast together after a Cottage Party,” He shrugged. “I’m gonna shower and then I’ll meet you downstairs, yeah?” Eliot grabbed his towel and moved to the door, brushing past Quentin. As he did, he instinctively reached out and ruffled Q’s hair-

 

_ (fingers entwined in that hair) _

 

-and he instantly panicked and wondered if that was still allowed. But Quentin didn’t flinch away, which was good. In fact, he looked just about as relieved as Eliot felt that his casual touches were still welcome. Maybe Quentin felt the same as he did, grateful that there had been some shred of normalcy in this morning.

 

But he had no idea how Quentin felt.

 

Eliot didn’t stick around to watch Quentin’s face or talk further. He practically bolted out of his room and into the bathroom where he closed the door behind him with a relieved exhale.

 

He heard Quentin move to his own room and a gentle ‘ _ click _ ’ as he shut the door behind him.

 

Eliot lightly banged his head against the door, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

_ What the hell is wrong with you? _

 

_ What the hell were you doing? _

 

Eliot took his time with his shower, scrubbing himself clean and trying not to let his mind wander-

 

_ (Quentin whispering his name like it was a prayer) _

 

-because that wasn’t allowed. Not now, not ever.

 

Once he was squeaky clean and wearing one of his favorite button ups, he made his way down the stairs towards the kitchen where he heard the tail end of Margo’s sentence.

 

“-to cure our hangovers after parties,” She was saying.

 

“What’s this about hangover cures?” Eliot asked as he rounded the corner into the kitchen where Margo and Quentin were standing.

 

Eliot knew Margo like the back of his hand and he knew right away that she had been thoroughly and enjoyably fucked last night. Her hair was messy and tousled and she was wearing her favorite bathrobe and she appeared to be _happy_ to be awake before noon.  Which, was a rarity unless she had gotten laid last night.

 

“Hey, El,” She said with a smile, “Want some eggs?”

 

And maybe this morning, too.

 

“Yes, please,” Eliot said, sliding onto one of their bar stools. “Now what’s this about hangover cures? I could use one right about now,”

 

Margo waved her wooden spoon in Quentin’s direction, who was quietly sipping on a cup of coffee. 

 

“When Q moves in, he’s gonna bring his waffle maker,” She said.

 

Eliot’s eyes flicked to Quentin, an unspoken question in his gaze. He found the other man already staring at him. Eliot inhaled.

 

Q gave him a silent and small nod before turning to get plates from the cupboard.

 

Eliot exhaled. Quentin was still planning on moving in.

 

Good.

 

“Waffles are the perfect hangover cure,” Eliot stated as Margo dished up their eggs and bacon.

 

“Well, next time you can get Quentin’s hangover cure, today you’re getting mine,” She said, passing him a plate. He took it with an eager grin.

 

“And where i s Miss Alice this morning?” Eliot teased Margo.

 

Margo might have blushed, but she covered it up well. “She had to go to work,” Margo answered in a matter of fact tone and with a smug smile. “But don’t worry, you’ll be seeing her around,”

 

The three of them sat down at the little kitchen table, with Quentin grabbing the silverware and Eliot grabbing them all cups of cold water and Margo putting the finishing touches on her food.

 

It was tradition that after parties, Eliot and Margo ate a greasy breakfast together and rehashed the previous night’s events. They filled in each other’s blanks and shared their sexcapade stories and laughing at their drunk selves' bad choices. Margo also just enjoyed sitting and eating together, sharing their meal along with their stories.

 

When they had first moved in together, Eliot hadn’t been a fan of the big family style sit down meals, but Margo insisted on it, especially when she learned about his shitty past. Something about creating new traditions and your found family and stuff like that. And this morning, it was comforting. Especially because of the awkward air between him and a certain someone. 

 

But if Margo noticed, she didn’t say anything.

 

“So how was your night, El?” Margo asked, biting into her eggs.

 

_ Well, fuck. _

 

Quentin sipped his water.

 

“What happened after Alice and I left?” 

 

Eliot avoided making eye contact with Quentin. 

 

They’d already had enough of that last night.

 

“Nothing,” Eliot drawled, crunching on a piece of bacon. “Nothing happened,”

 

Margo’s eyes nearly shot out of her head. “You mean you didn’t fuck anyone last night?”

 

_ Jesus Christ, Margo. _

 

Eliot frowned. “Bambi-”

 

She pointed her fork at him. “Oh come on, El. You always bang some twink at these parties. It’s like your signature move.” 

 

Eliot was very aware of Quentin shoveling eggs into his face and looking down.

 

The knot in his stomach tightened.

 

“I don’t  _ always _ \- I mean… It’s not my  _ signature _ move,” Eliot stuttered, embarrassment washing over him. 

 

Margo rolled her eyes at him. “Okay, fine, don’t get your panties in a twist,” She turned to wiggle her eyebrows at Quentin. “Looks like the High King of Heartbreaks really is dropping his crown,”

 

Eliot wanted to melt into the fucking floor.

 

“I’m gonna go back to my house today. Get some homework done and pack up some of my stuff,” Quentin said, changing the subject and biting into his bacon.

 

Margo finished off her glass of water and got up to get a refill. “I’ll be at the library till the end of fucking time writing this paper about how blackface minstrel shows impacted segregation laws or some shit like that,” 

 

Eliot wasn’t really listening to her. His eyes kept drifting back to Quentin. “Are you coming home tonight, Q? Or are you staying there?” 

 

It was a selfish question. 

 

He wanted to know if Quentin was just running away to his basement.

 

And if he was coming back.

 

Quentin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand-

 

_ Shut up, brain. We agreed no wandering. _

 

-and shrugged. 

 

“Yeah, I’ll probably be coming back tonight. I’ve got to be in the props shop at 8am tomorrow,”

 

Right.

 

That’s why Quentin was moving into the cottage in the first place, after all, to be closer to campus.

 

“What about you, El?” Margo brought back over their Brita filter and topped off everyone’s glasses with more water. “What’ve you got going on today?”

 

“Laundry. Going over lines. Just a catch up day. Nothing fancy,” He sighed. “I’ve got lunch with Fen tomorrow, though.”

 

“Fen!” Margo’s eyes lit up, “I haven’t seen her in a while,”

 

Eliot snorted. “Yeah, not since you guys fu-”

 

“What’s she up to these days?” Margo cut him off.

 

“I’ll tell you after I get lunch with her,”

 

“Fen is the house manager lady right?” Quentin joined in.

 

Margo nodded. “Yeah. She and El go way back,”

 

Quentin sent an intrigued look to Eliot, who was just glad to see the sad puppy dog look wiped off the other man’s face. “We were each other’s beards in high school. Midwestern gays have to stick together,” Eliot explained.

 

Quentin smiled at that, his first real smile of the morning, and the knot in Eliot’s stomach loosened. 

 

Eliot helped Margo wash and put away the dishes after breakfast, as was tradition. He listened to her bitch about the designers for the show and what a nightmare the lighting designer was during tech, but his heart was only half in it. 

 

Quentin had scurried out the door after breakfast, and Eliot had tried not watch him go.

 

Margo left for the library and then Eliot was all alone in the cottage. 

 

He kept himself busy so as to keep his thoughts in check.

 

He washed his bedding.

 

He cleaned up his room.

 

He did his lighting homework.

 

He did his laundry.

 

He cooked lunch.

 

He watched a movie.

 

He went over his lines.

 

He put away his laundry.

 

He listened to the new  _ Hadestown _ soundtrack.

 

He took a nap.

 

He did his theatre history reading.

 

He ordered pizza for dinner.

 

He scrolled on his phone for an unnecessary amount of time.

 

He went over his lines again.

 

The sunset came and went.

 

He watched it while smoking on the back porch.

 

A day of doing basically nothing had been good for him, and what he really wanted now was a warm cup of tea. 

 

So he made his way down to the kitchen and went through the motions of turning on the tea kettle and getting down the box of his favorite tea and searching through the clean mugs and without even thinking about it, he’d pulled out two mugs and two tea bags. 

 

He was so used to making Quentin tea when they were at  _ Peter _ that it was basically second nature to him at this point.

 

But Quentin wasn’t there now, so he shoved the extra mug back in the cabinet.

 

Over the sound of the tea kettle boiling, he heard the front door open and the jingling of keys.

 

“Is that you, Margo?” Eliot called to the other room. 

 

Footsteps made their way to the kitchen. 

 

“I’m making tea if you want some,” Eliot said over his shoulder, not bothering to look as he poured the hot water into the mug.

 

“Uh, not Margo,” Quentin’s voice replied, “Just me,”

 

Eliot turned around to see Quentin carrying a couple bags worth of shit, clearly from his house.

 

“Oh,” Eliot responded,  _ like an idiot _ , “Well, the offer still stands for some tea, if you want it,”

 

If you want _ me. _

 

Quentin shook his head. “I’m good, thanks. I’m just gonna put some shit in the freezer and go get ready for bed,” He put down his bags and fished through one of them for a few various freezer items.

 

“Right, gotta be up early for working at Brakebills South,” Eliot picked up his mug.

 

Quentin simply nodded as he loaded a couple of microwave meals and a box of Eggos into their freezer. The cold air made its way to Eliot and he shivered. 

 

_ Shut the fuck up, brain. No wandering. _

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Eliot,” Quentin said, picking up his bags and turning to go down the hallway. Eliot’s heart sank in his chest.

 

“Q, wait,” Eliot called before he could stop himself. 

 

Slowly, Quentin turned back to him, looking him dead in the eyes.

 

Eliot wasn’t brave enough to maintain that eye contact for long, so his eyes flickered to the wall and to the ground before coming back up to Quentin, who hadn’t looked away.

 

“Are we….” He began, “Are we good?” 

 

Quentin hesitated, and then smiled softly. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

 

“Yeah, El. We’re good,”

 

Eliot watched Quentin trudge down the hallway and up the stairs. He heard every footstep until they were silenced by the click of his bedroom door shutting.

 

Silence.

 

Eliot’s mug burned into his hand.

 

Things were not good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeaaaahhhhhhh, I knooooowwwwwww..... ~aNgSt~
> 
> Wish I could say I was sorry, buuuut...I love angst lol. But just keep in mind that it does have a happy ending! They just have to be idiots first. 
> 
> (also, not so fun fact: "Jim Crow" was originally racist caricature of blackface minstrel shows. Things you learn in Theatre History classes.)
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed the beginning of act two and the switch to Eliot's POV!


	9. Eliot Tried His Very Best But Everything Sucked Anyways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *takes canon and puts it through a meat grinder* 
> 
> *Mrs. Lovett voice* this is gonna be the best fic in all of London

Eliot decided that if his life was a story, the chapter that was week before opening should have been called: “Eliot Tried His Very Best But Everything Sucked Anyways,”

 

Monday started off with a vocal lesson.

 

Which, he was late for. 

 

Eliot tended not to care too deeply about school work and all that nonsense, but his vocal lessons were important to him. Not only for, like, his career and that kind of shit, but he had a good relationship with his vocal coach, who was the only professor at the university that he didn’t want to disappoint. 

 

That didn’t stop him from bursting into the office, five minutes late, saying “Henry, you would not  _ believe  _ the weekend I’ve had,” with an over dramatic sigh.

 

Henry Fogg looked up from his desk with an unimpressed face. “You’re late, Mr. Waugh,”

 

Eliot closed the door behind him and plopped into the chair across from Henry, ignoring the comment about being late. Because, honestly? Wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last.

 

“I’m not saying that I ruined a perfectly good friendship on Saturday with drunk party sex, because I don’t think it’s completely fucked yet, but everything’s kind of shitty right now,” Eliot went on, and Henry rolled his eyes.

 

“ _ Eliot _ , how many times do I have to tell you that I’m not interested in the details of your personal life?” He sighed, and ran a hand over his face. “Unless those details explain why you were late,”

 

Eliot sheepishly looked away. “You know, I think what’s most important is that I’m here safe and sound and ready to begin my vocal lesson, Dr. Fogg,”

 

_ (Henry didn’t want personal details? Fine. Then he wouldn’t admit that he was late because he was jacking off in the shower after his housemates left.) _

 

“Fine. Let’s just get started for the day,” Henry put up his hands.  “I think it’s safe to move on from your  _ Peter and the Starcatcher _ text, so I’ve got a new song for you to work on,”

 

Eliot sighed. “Okay, fine, as long as it’s not  _ Les Mis,” _

 

Henry plopped a massive libretto on the center of the desk and gestured to it.

 

Eliot eyed the libretto suspiciously. “Henry, please tell me that’s not what I think it is,”

 

Henry slid the libretto forward and flipped it open to a tabbed page.

 

“One Day More” from  _ Les Miserables. _

 

“Oh, fuck me,” Eliot groaned.

 

Lunch with Fen went slightly better.

 

It was weird to not be in the Green Room with Margo, Alice, and Quentin, but honestly, it was probably for the best at the moment. Margo and Alice would be all over each other, leaving no one for him to talk to but Quentin, and he was kind of glad to be avoiding that. Q left the cottage before Eliot had woken up, and he wasn’t complaining.

 

But he pushed those thoughts aside while he and Fen ate at the thai food place down the street from campus. Fen was going on excitedly about this new girl she was seeing.

 

“She’s a total badass,” Fen said, gesticulating with her chopsticks. “We have total opposite aesthetics because she’s all dark and grungey and  _ “I’d kill a man!” _ and I’m all...” Fen gestured to herself and the bright yellow and white striped shirt she was wearing with pink hearts embroidered on it. “So we look fun in pictures together,” She shrugged.

 

Eliot nodded. “What did you say her name was?”

 

Fen beamed. “Marina,”

 

“You’ll have to bring her to opening,” Eliot said, popping a dumpling into his mouth.

 

“Oh, I am!” Fen grinned. “She’s my date. I reserved our seats a couple days ago,”

 

Eliot quirked an eyebrow at her. “Where did you find this mysterious Marina?” Fen blushed, and shoved her noodles into her mouth. She mumbled something, but Eliot couldn’t make it out. “Fen, dearest, you know I can’t hear you,” 

 

Fen swallowed and huffed. “Tinder! I met her on tinder, okay?”

 

Eliot practically fucking  _ giggled  _ at the idea of sweet little Fen on tinder. Fen blushed again and threw her napkin at him, but she giggled too. 

 

“What about you, Eliot?” She sipped on her water, “Who’s your date to opening?”

 

“No one,” he said a little too quickly. 

 

Fen frowned. “You’ve always bring someone to opening, though,”

 

_ Fuck, not this again _ .

 

“I mean,” Eliot poked at his noodles. “Not  _ always-” _

 

“Yeah,” Fen cut him off. “You do. There’s been Mike and Charlton and Penny and Hale and Trevor and Arjun and-”

 

“Okay,” Eliot held up his hand, staring at the ceiling, “I get it. Daddy’s had a past,”

 

Fen rolled her eyes. “So why no one for this opening? This is a big one for you,”

 

“Maybe I just want to celebrate with my friends?” Eliot mused, his voice getting a little higher than usual. Fen shook her head.

 

“No, that’s not it,” She leaned back in her chair.

 

Eliot huffed and ate another dumpling.

 

His class with Quentin was right after that, and there was a knot of dread in his stomach. 

 

Luckily, when Eliot got there, Quentin hadn’t shown up yet, so he breathed easily as he took his seat around the big table in the room. Their class was held in room at the bottom of the same building their rehearsal hall was in. It was made up of two rooms actually, one of them having a large conference style table and the walls lined with Macs that were loaded with the various theatrical tech programs that Eliot knew nothing about. The other room was smaller room filled with all kinds of miniature lighting, sound, and projection equipment and a tiny stage no bigger than a car for students to do mini lighting projects for classes and of the such. Eliot didn’t understand any of it, but he supposed that was why he was taking the class.

 

Their classmates filtered in, people that he didn’t really know or care to speak to, but they all sat in their usual seats. Meaning that everyone avoided the seat just to the right of Eliot, where Quentin normally sat.

 

Except, Quentin didn’t show up.

 

Alice scurried in at the last second and when Eliot sent her a inquisitive look, she shook her head. Eliot didn’t have time to ask any questions because then Professor Yeager was there, telling them all about their next project: designing their own little mini show.

 

For the project, they all were to select a song of their choice and in the mini-lighting lab, design it. Hang and focus the mini light fixtures on the mini stage, program all the lighting cues and special effects, and then present it to the class. And, because legally, no one could be in the lab by themself for safety reasons, they all had to have a partner for the project. Some dumbass fell off a ladder a few years ago and doomed all the classes after it to group work.

 

Well, they all got to design their own individual projects, but their partner had to be their technician: hanging, focusing, and programing the whole thing. And vice versa.

 

So it sounded like it should be a fun project, right?

 

Except….

 

“Eliot, I put you and Quentin down as partners,” Alice said as she passed around the sign up sheet. “Since you guys live together and stuff. I figured you wouldn’t mind,”

 

Eliot cleared his throat. “No, um, yes, that’s fine,” He gave her a tight lipped smile. “I’ll talk with Q when I see him,”

 

Eliot didn’t see Quentin again until the  _ Peter  _ dress rehearsal that night. He was heading towards the stage to do his warm ups before fight call and he passed Q as he was setting out props.

 

“Quentin!” Eliot exclaimed, relieved to see him, “You weren’t in class today,”

 

“Yeah, I skipped to write my paper for play analysis,” Quentin only half glanced at him.

 

“Okay, well, we got assigned to be partners for the lighting project,” Eliot tried not to let his smile falter. 

 

“Alice told me,” Quentin said, setting down his last prop, and finally turning to face Eliot. “I can’t really talk right now, El. We’ve had two crew members call in sick today and I’ve got to pick up the extra slack,” Quentin brushed past him and started making his way back to the prop closet, Eliot’s heart sinking with every step.

 

And then, Quentin turned back around, and gave Eliot an apologetic smile.

 

“Sorry, I, uh, sorry,” He took another couple steps back to Eliot, “I’m just like, nine levels of stressed right now. It’s nothing, uh….” Quentin moved his eyes around while he thought of the right word. “It’s nothing personal. It’s just been a crazy day,”

 

“It’s okay, Q,” Eliot replied, also distractedly looking around the backstage. “Sorry that I bothered you,” He waved his hand. “Go save the world now or whatever it is that ASMs do,”

 

Quentin sent him a grateful smile and hurried back to the prop closet.

 

The rest of the night went by smoothly, but there was still an air of awkward between them.

 

Tuesday was no better.

 

Eliot spent most of Tuesday on the phone with the financial aid office trying to sort out a scholarship problem. It was a simple error that shouldn’t have taken that long to deal with, but the people at the FAO were practically brainless zombies, so it was an all day ordeal. And it stressed Eliot out, worrying that the money wasn’t going to come through.

 

Because it’s not like his parents were sending him any money.

 

Or speaking to him in general.

 

So he had to handle it on his own on top of doing homework and attending his classes and it left him a stressed hot mess. So when he got to the theatre that night, half an hour before his call time, he beelined for the dressing rooms. 

 

Well, he signed in first, so that Margo wouldn’t yell at him, but  _ then _ he beelined to the dressing rooms. 

 

He flicked on the station lights and put in his headphones and listened to his  _ Peter _ spotify playlist and read through his lines, trying to get his head back in the game. Trying to get his head out of the antsy and frustrated place it had been all day so that he could actually go on stage and do his job. 

 

He did his warm up stretches in the empty dressing room, too. Normally he did them onstage with the others, but he wasn’t really in the mood to socialize with his fellow cast mates today. At least, not until he had half an hour to brood in peace. He went through fight call as he normally did and returned to get into costume as he normally did, all the while mostly keeping his head down and saving his energy for the show. His mood did improve as time stretched on, but he was so wrapped up in himself that he didn’t hear Quentin come in.

 

Every day at fifteen minutes til places, Quentin came in to collect valuable bags. Each actor had a little pouch with their name on it incase they wanted the stage managers to lock up anything during the show, as per the rules. No one under the age of 25 actually used them, but it’s literally in the equity rule book that they provide that service, so Quentin always came in to at least ask if anyone had any valuables.

 

To which Eliot always responded some variation of: “You’re my valuable!”

 

Except today, he was so in his own head and in his music that he didn’t hear Q announce his presence to the dressing room before making his way in and asked his usual: “Anyone got any valuables?”

 

He didn’t really hear anything until he felt someone hovering over his shoulder, and looked up to see Quentin, in his show blacks with his cute little apron and headset around his neck. 

 

“What’s up, Q?” He asked, taking out one of his headphones.

 

Quentin’s eyes locked his his own for a second before flicking about the room. “Got any valuables today?” He asked, a smile trying to form on his lips, trying to be light hearted, clearly trying to reach out to Eliot in the midst of all their awkwardness.

 

_ “Just you _ ,” was on the tip of Eliot’s tongue, but it caught at the entrance of his mouth.

 

He bit his lip. “Not today, I’m afraid,” He responded.

 

Quentin hesitated for a moment and gave him a short nod paired with an awkward smile before heading to the next dressing room. Eliot’s stomach twisted as he watched him go.

 

He hoped that he didn’t upset Quentin.

 

It’s just-

 

It was just that he’d had just had a hell of a day and wasn’t up for socialization.

 

And he was a little cranky.

 

And he might not have wanted to play into his old teasings with Quentin at this exact moment.

 

This moment being in the midst of all their awkwardness.

 

Sue him.

 

Eliot felt off for the rest of the night, and he hoped that it didn’t show in his performance. The stress of the day had gotten to him more than he thought and his head wasn’t in the show.

 

And it absolutely had nothing to do with the fact that the ASM seemed to be avoiding his eyes. 

 

Not. 

 

At. 

 

All. 

 

They couldn’t avoid each other completely  _ (and not that they were, at least, not that  _ he _ was) _ during the show because of the nature of the show itself. Quentin, being the lead ASM, and Eliot, being one of the leads, had to interact a lot. Quentin had to give him his cue to go onstage a couple of times or hand off a prop or shine a flashlight for him while he walked up the escape stairs on the back of the set. Just little things that were a part of the backstage dance. 

 

And not only that, but they had silly little rituals, too. In the last month of rehearsals, they’d developed a series of inside jokes just naturally, as one does on a production. Dancing dramatically to the score while Eliot waited to go on or playing rock paper scissors or playing hide and seek during a really long and boring scene. 

 

Perfectly normal adult things.

 

They didn’t quite stop doing those now, but Eliot could feel the stiffness in their actions.

 

And it just added to his crankiness.

 

Wednesday started with him spilling tea on his favorite button up.

 

So that made him pissy right off the bat.

 

And he fucking forgot his packed lunch at home.

 

And he didn’t want to fucking spend the money on food.

 

He groaned this to his friends in the Green Room, and Quentin instantly stood up and began digging through his backpack. 

 

“What are you doing, Q?” Eliot asked, and Quentin pulled out his wallet.

 

“Subway’s right across the street in that dorm,” He said, sticking his wallet in his back pocket. “Come on, let’s go you some food,”

 

“You don’t have to do that, Q,” Eliot said, trying not to feel warm and fuzzy.

 

Margo rolled her eyes. “El, just let the man buy you lunch. I don’t want to hear you bitching later about how hungry you are,”

 

Margo Speak for “I want you to be well nourished and fed because I care,”

 

So Quentin and Eliot made their way to Subway, casually discussing their lighting project and the upcoming paper for their theatre history class. Quentin was clearly in a good mood today, smiling like it was the source of sunshine and for a moment, everything felt almost normal.

 

And then they walked into the Subway and Eliot saw his ex behind the counter. 

 

Well, ‘ex’ was a strong word and implied a relationship, and that was not the case for this one. This one had been just one of his rotating fucks, someone he used to sleep with a lot until the guy began to get clingy and Eliot ghosted him. 

 

So naturally, Eliot’s reaction was to spin on his heel and drag Quentin out by the elbow.

 

“I can’t go in there,” Eliot said to Quentin’s protesting noises.

 

“Why the hell not?” Quentin asked, eyebrows sky high.

 

“My, uh, well, a guy that I used to, um,” Eliot stuttered out, embarrassment creeping up the back of his neck.  “One of my....old.....fuck... buddies…. is behind the counter,”

 

_ Jesus Christ. _

 

Quentin, of course, had to peek into the window. “Which one is he?”

 

“The one with the glasses,” Eliot groaned. “I think his name was Jason? Or Jacob?”

 

Quentin shot him a look. “You don’t remember his name?”

 

_ Shit. _

 

Eliot shook his head, and a flash of frustration hit Quentin’s face.

 

“Right,” His teeth clenched ever so slightly. “High King of Heartbreaks, and all,”

 

Eliot felt like he had been punched in the gut.

 

_ Fuuuck. _

 

Quentin ran a hand through his hair. “Tell me your order and I’ll just go in and get it,”

 

“You really don’t have to-”

 

“Eliot,” Quentin’s voice was firm, and his gaze was strong. 

 

Eliot complied.

 

He waited outside on a bench, twiddling his thumbs, as Quentin went through the line. 

 

When Quentin came back out, he practically shoved the sandwich bag in Eliot’s chest.

 

“His name was Jason,” Quentin’s voice was lined with a thin layer of anger and he set off in the direction of the theatre without looking behind him to see if Eliot was following.

 

Which just made Eliot more pissy.

 

That pissyness carried forward to the show that night.

 

“Quentin, where is my sword?” Eliot asked, five minute before fight call. “I can’t find it,”

 

Quentin was currently kneeling on the floor, hunched over and fixing some glow tape that had come up the night before, but Eliot still saw him roll his eyes. “It’s in the weapons cabinet, just like it always is, Eliot,”

 

Eliot crossed his arms. “No, it’s not, Quentin. I just checked,”

 

“ _ El _ , I just put it there,” Quentin said over his shoulder. 

 

“ _ Q _ , I was literally just at the weapons cabinet and it’s not there,”

 

Quentin put down the tape with a huff and sent a glare at him. “Eliot, I don’t have time for you to be needy right now-”

 

Eliot’s brow furrowed. “I’m not being  _ needy _ Quentin, I’m trying to find my fucking prop-”

 

“Hey guys!” Todd’s cheery voice interrupted. Both of their heads snapped toward him and found him holding Eliot’s sword. “Were you looking for this? I had to tighten the bolt before fight call,”

 

Eliot avoided Quentin’s eyes as he practically snatched the sword out of Todd’s hands.

 

There were no silly rituals or jokes between them that night.

 

There was barely any eye contact.

 

And there were certainly no shared cups of tea at intermission.

 

And there were no “good nights” called across the top floor of the cottage that night. 

 

Thursday was the worst of it. 

 

He had a massive paper for his Advanced Acting class that had to be emailed in before noon.

 

And their wifi went out.

 

_ Shit _ .

 

Panicked, Eliot threw his stuff in his backpack and ran out to his car.

 

And his car didn’t start.

 

_ Fuck _ .

 

Margo didn’t answer her phone.

 

Fen didn’t answer her phone.

 

Julia didn’t answer her phone.

 

Alice didn’t answer her phone.

 

Kady didn’t answer her phone.

 

Josh didn’t answer his phone.

 

Todd didn’t answer his phone.

 

Penny certainly didn’t answer his phone.

 

Quentin answered his phone.

 

“What do you need, Eliot?” Quentin’s tone was exasperated, and he winced. 

 

_ Fucking shit! _

 

“My car isn’t starting and I need to get to campus ASAP. Can you come pick me up?” 

 

Silence on the other end.

 

“Please?” Eliot tried, swallowing his pride.

 

Quentin sighed. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,”

 

“Any chance you can be here sooner?” Eliot tried, checking his watch. One hour till his deadline.

 

“No,” Quentin’s voice was curt. “I’ll be there in twenty,”

 

So he sat on their front porch. 

 

And twiddled his fucking thumbs.

 

And waited.

 

Quentin pulled up twenty minutes later, true to his word, and Eliot practically dashed to get in the passenger side. 

 

“Thanks for coming to get me,” Eliot said as he buckled his seat belt.

 

Quentin sneezed in response. 

 

Eliot raised an eyebrow. “You’re not getting sick, are you?”

 

Quentin rolled his eyes. “No, I’m not getting sick, Eliot. It’s just allergies,”

 

“Alright, no need to get snippy,” Eliot murmured as he turned to face the window.

 

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Quentin  _ literally _ huffed. 

 

“I’m not being snippy. You asked, and I answered,” Quentin  _ definitely _ snipped.

 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Eliot put up his hands, maybe a little  _ too _ defensive.

 

But Quentin was on a roll. “You asked me to come get you in the middle of the day,” He said while making a left turn, “And I do it even though I was in the middle of a paper-”

 

“Well, if I had known you were going to be an asshole about it, I wouldn’t have asked,”

 

“I’m not-” Quentin made a noise at the back of his throat. “I’m not trying to be an asshole, Eliot. I’m just....” He sighed. “There’s just a lot going on right now with the show and my dad and school and...” His eyes darted to Eliot so quickly that he almost missed it. “... _ everything _ and I’m just tired, okay?” 

 

_ “Then talk to me about it _ ,” was burning to escape Eliot’s lips. 

 

“Okay,” He said, instead.

 

Quentin turned again, onto the long bridge that crossed the river. The daylight was warm, and the river stretched as far as the eye could see on either side. They rode in an awkward silence, and Eliot’s mind was racing as fast as the car. 

 

Eliot watched Quentin as he drove. Quentin wasn’t actually a very good driver, so he always drove with both hands clutching the wheel and a deeply concentrated look on his face. Eliot always found it adorable, even now. Most of their interactions these days had been in the backstage and arguments, so it was nice to see him in the sunlight and for a moment, Eliot almost forgot that everything was shitty. Quentin was breathtaking in this lighting, and it was easy for Eliot to get lost in the moment, lost in Q’s profile in the sunlight.

 

Eliot wished that they could have just driven on that bridge for forever, soaking in the warmth of the sun and the silence of the moment, instead of the bickering and tension that had become their daily interactions. He wished he had the courage to reach out and brush Q’s hair out of his eyes or take his hand or touch his knee or do anything to get his hand on him, to connect with him, to make things normal again. He wished he could find the words to accurately to describe the feelings that had burrowed in his chest a week ago and long before that. And then he wished he had the courage to apologize and beg for forgiveness and pray that things could go back to the way they were before everything got fucked and he wished he had the courage to ask Quentin: 

 

_ “Do you feel it too?” _

 

But they turned off the bridge and back down another road towards campus.

 

And Quentin dropped him off at the library.

 

And he stayed silent. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY. I PROMISE IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING. I LOVE YOU ALL.
> 
> Also fun fact, my college lighting professor was Kenton Yeager, who created the Yeager Labs. If you're a theater person, look it up! and yes, I had to do that project. More on that later. ;)
> 
> (and yes, my favorite part of ASMing shows that my friends were on was always when I'd go to collect valuables and they'd always shower me with love. My favorite one was "I don't think you can fit into this pouch, Laynie.")


	10. Opening Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I go into Tech this week! Pray for me! (See the notes at the end for tRiViA about this chapter!!)

It was Opening Night.

 

And Eliot was determined to have a  _ fucking  _ good time.

 

The last week and then some had been shit, but he’d be damned if he let that be the case tonight. Because he was Eliot  _ Fucking _ Waugh. And he;d spent the last three years working his ass off to prove to Henry and the other adults at the Chatwin Theatre that he could handle a mainstage lead role. 

 

Not a student show. 

 

Not a little Lab show.

 

Not a Carousel show. 

 

A Main-fucking-Stage show. 

 

And his literal years of hard work paid off. They trusted him, a college senior, to play the opposite of the fucking titular role (when they really should have cast like, an actual adult) in a classic and once in a lifetime role and he was out of his mind excited about it.

 

And Eliot wasn’t going to let his moment of celebration be tainted. 

 

He was going to go onstage and give the performance of his life.

 

And then he was going to get shit faced with his best friends at a bar.

 

So he was going to take all of his icky nasty gross feelings, put them in a box, put a lid on the box, lock the box, shove the box in the closet, and then shut the closet door.

 

Well, he didn’t like the idea of putting any part of himself back in a closet again.

 

So, he’d shove the box under the bed.

 

Well, he maybe shouldn’t associate those thoughts with a bed again.

 

So, he’d throw the box out of the fucking window. 

 

He spent all day mentally prepping for the show. 

 

And by that he meant that he didn’t go to any of his classes, and got a massage instead.

 

And then he and Margo got dinner at their favorite restaurant.

 

Their favorite restaurant was actually a cute little cafe on the edge of town that felt really fancy, so that they could pretend they were high class bitches, but it was actually super cheap and perfect for college students. Even though it was cheap, going to The Nietherlands Cafe was a fucking  _ treat _ , so they only went openings and birthdays to keep it special.

 

Margo also skipped her classes that day, to finish up her prompt book for the show, so the pair dropped into the Nietherlands and took their usual table in the back corner. The two of them hadn’t really gotten a lot of alone time in the last few weeks, with the show and classes and the addition of a sweet little nerd to their family, so Eliot soaked in Margo’s presence and ate up every word she said.

 

He  _ needed _ his Bambi Time.

 

At the current moment, Margo was talking about Alice, in a very  _ “I’m head over heels but you can’t make me admit it”  _ way. She had a twinkle in her eyes and a small smile creeping up on her face, but she was staring off to the side and absentmindedly playing with her straw.

 

“We’re wearing matching outfits to opening. Well,” Margo rolled her eyes. “We’re wearing outfits that  _ compliment _ each other. So we’ll look hot in our pictures together,”

 

“What are you wearing?” Eliot asked, and Margo winked at him.

 

“You’ll just have to wait and see,”

 

Eliot playfully huffed at her. “Well  _ I’m  _ wearing the Green Suit.”

 

Margo’s face split in a ear to ear grin. “The  _ Green _ Suit? Damn, El, you really are going all out for this opening night,”

 

“Damn queer, Bambi. We’ve  _ earned  _ it,” They clinked their water glasses together and giggled.

 

“Sooo...” Margo drawled, and Eliot instantly knew what was coming next. He knew Margo well enough to recognize  _ that _ look on her face. “Why no arm candy for this opening?”

 

“Please, not this again,” He muttered as he began picking at his bread roll. “You know, I don’t  _ always _ have a date to these things, and I wish people would stop saying that,”

 

Margo just stared at him. “I didn’t say anything like that, El,”

 

He huffed. “Well, I’m sure you were thinking it,”

 

“Eliot-”

 

“No, I get it,” He tore his roll open. “High King of Heartbreaks, and all,”

 

Margo surprised him by reaching across the table and gently taking his hand. She gave it a small squeeze and he forced himself to look up at her. Normally, Margo prided herself in her resting bitch face, but now her face was softer. Gentler.

 

“Eliot, honey, what’s going on with you?” She asked. 

 

He looked away again. “I’m fine, Bambi,’

 

She shook her head. “You can pull that shit with other people, but not with me, okay? I’m your best friend and I know something’s up with yo,u and has been all week,”

 

The waiter appeared with their food and Margo released his hand, but her gaze stayed strong. Eliot thanked their waiter and tried to pretend like Margo wasn’t burning holes in his skull.

 

She was right, of course.

 

This week had sucked on a lot of levels and she could read him better than anyone.

 

And chucking his box of feelings out the window clearly hadn’t worked because he could feel them bubbling up inside of his chest, drawn out by Margo’s persistent poking.

 

Margo sighed, picking up her fork. “El-”

 

“Maybe I’m just tired of only being known for breaking hearts,” He cut her off. “Maybe I’m tired of being the casual sex guy without any feelings,” He poked at his pasta, not looking up. “Maybe I’m tired of  _ that _ being the impression that everyone has of me, because what if-”

 

He sighed and switched his gaze to the ceiling. 

 

Margo waited patiently, and he loved her for it.

 

She knew that sharing was hard for him, and that he had to do it on his own time.

 

She never pressed when he wasn’t ready to share, and he loved her for it. 

 

He bit his lip and deeply inhaled.

 

“What if there was a heart I didn’t want to break?”

 

Margo frowned. “So that stuff you said like a month ago about being done with hookups-”

 

He shook his head. “Then I was wasted, and I don’t really think I knew what I wanted. But it’s so much more than that, Margo, and I just....” He trailed off.

 

Weeks ago, when they’d gotten drunk and he was lamenting about ending things with Charlton and declaring the end of his reign, he’s not sure he actually meant it. He was only catching the faintest whiff of feelings for a boy he barely knew and wanted to try and do things right with him.

 

But now?

 

_ (shared cups of tea) _

 

_ (stolen glances) _

 

_ (late night drives) _

 

_ (laughter ringing) _

 

_ (tender kisses) _

 

_ (breathy moans) _

 

_ (twisting stomach) _

 

_ (aching heart) _

 

_ You did it all wrong. _

 

“Holy shit,” Margo pulled him out of his own head. Her jaw was practically at the table in a delightful grin and her eyebrows were in her hairline. “You’ve got a  _ crush,” _

 

There was zero hesitation with his response: “Shut the fuck up, no, I don’t,”

 

Margo gave him a smug look. She knew she’d hit it right on the money. “Alright, I won’t press,” She took a bite of her own pasta. She pointed her fork at him. “But I’m onto you, Waugh,”

 

Eliot rolled his eyes.

 

It wasn’t a  _ crush _ .

 

That sounded stupid. 

 

And it was more complicated than that.

 

“Whatever,” He rolled his eyes. “Tonight is about you, and me, and celebrating our opening,”

 

“Okay,” Margo grinned at him, still eyeing him with her very Margo Eyes of ‘ _ I’ve caught you red handed,’ _ “I won’t bring it up again tonight,”

 

“And don’t bring it up around anyone else,” Eliot said through a mouth full of chicken.

 

Margo crossed her heart, with a mock look of seriousness on her face.

 

And then she giggled again.

 

When they arrived that the theatre, the Green Room had already been filled with platters of cookies and flowers and thank you cards from staff and faculty. Most of the crew was already there, chilling and eating their dinners, so Margo stayed there to chat with them while Eliot brushed past them and into the dressing rooms.

 

As always, he was the first one in there, so he flicked on the lights, and was pleasantly surprised to find flowers at his station. Not just one bouquet, not just two, but three different vases of flowers with tiny little cards attached to them waited for him.

 

The first group of flowers were classic red roses, with the message: 

 

“ _ Congrats on a great performance! Good Work! -Henry Fogg.” _

 

The second bouquet were rainbow roses. He knew  _ immediately _ who they were from.

 

_ “You did it, bitch! I’m proud of you! - Bambi” _

 

The third bouquet was simple and elegant cluster of lilies.

 

_ “Happy Opening. -Q” _

 

Hmm.

 

Okay.

 

So apparently his box of mushy gushy icky feelings needed to be chucked into the fucking river.

 

Okay.

 

Hmm.

 

The box hath been chucked.

 

Eliot did his vocal warm ups.

 

He did his vocal warm ups in the dressing room, where he was alone, and then he made his way to do his body warm up onstage.

 

Warming up in the space was one of his favorite things to do before a show. To breathe in the air of the theatre and get his body used to the space was a soothing process. To clear his mind and stretch his bones on the set, staring out into the house, was the perfect way to get his head in the right space for a performance. 

 

So he sat on the floor and stretched. 

 

And he stood up and stretched. 

 

He took deep breaths in.

 

He released his breath while touching his toes.

 

He rolled his muscles and popped his bones.

 

He did some kickass sword fighting moves during fight call.

 

After fight call, Eliot made his way back to the weapons cabinet so he could properly put his sword away with a light feeling in his heart and a confidence in step.

 

The weapons cabinet was located in the props closet, so he made his way through the backstage and turned into the props closet and nearly ran into Quentin.

 

Quentin, who was wearing his usual black shirt and pants and hoodie with his little apron around his waist and headset around his neck and hair up in his bun and a soft look in his eyes.

 

There was a brief moment where they were both caught so off guard by each other’s presence that they didn’t say anything.

 

“Q,” El breathed, like Quentin was pulling the air straight out of his lungs. 

 

Quentin looked up at him with those  _ fucking _ puppy dog eyes, waiting to see what Eliot was going to say and it just made Eliot’s heart beat faster.

 

“Thank you,” Eliot managed to get out, “For the flowers,”

 

Quentin opened his mouth ever so slightly, like he was going to respond and then- 

 

“Quentin! Come quick! I broke everything!” 

 

_ Fucking Todd. _

 

Quentin’s head had snapped to look out the door at the sound of his fellow ASM’s voice, but he turned to look back at Eliot, a different expression on his face. Apologetic.

 

Eliot nodded in the direction of the door. 

 

“Go,” was all he said.

 

Quentin ducked his head down and slipped past Eliot and out the door.

 

The scent of lemongrass and vanilla went with him.

 

Okay.

 

So apparently his box of bad sticky stupid feelings needed to be chucked off a fucking cliff.

 

Hmm.

 

Chucked.

 

The Green Room was now abuzz with his fellow cast mates and even more crew members and there was an excited energy in all of them. All of his cast mates greeted him with a firm hug and a happy opening cheers. He allowed himself to sink into that mentality, to sink into the elated joy of an opening night. He only allowed his face to form a cheerful smile and only allowed laughter to bubble in his chest and only allowed his thoughts to revolve around the celebration.

 

And honestly?

 

It worked.

 

Eliot had done many performances and opening nights in his life, but this night was something special. He  _ connected _ with the show and the audience and his cast mates. He felt like electricity was running through his veins and he spent every moment not on stage with a giddy grin on his face. By the time they hit bows, he felt as though he might as well have a pair of wings burst from his back and carry him higher, because that’s how good he felt.

 

And as they finished bows and started to walk off stage, he blew a kiss up to Margo in the booth who was enthusiastically clapping for them.

 

And he was overwhelmed by the feeling of love in his chest.

 

His love for Margo and how supportive she was.

 

His love for getting the chance to tell this story every night.

 

His love for the opportunities given to him by people who believed in him.

 

His love for theatre.

 

His love for just..... all of it.

 

Not that he would  _ ever  _ admit outloud to being such a sappy fuck, but he sure was.

 

That feeling in his chest carried him back into the dressing rooms and out of his costume and into his favorite green suit. It was a bright emerald green and he paired it with his silk green and brown button up, which Margo said made him look like “a damn snack.”

 

And he agreed.

 

Eliot took his time to get ready, knowing that Margo, who needed the time to finish up her stage management duties, would want to walk out to the reception together.

 

Every opening, the board members who donated money to their theatre program threw a little reception for them in the lobby with food platters and non-alcoholic champagne. Henry, as head of the department would always give a little toast, and then everyone would take photos together on the “Chatwin Red Carpet” that Fen and the other house managers would put together. It was just a strip of red carpet and a Chatwin Theatre backdrop, but everyone dressed to the nines and had a good time with it. It made them all feel special, and taking opening night pictures was always the highlight of the night.

 

Eliot would  _ not _ admit to having printed out all of his previous opening night pictures and having them all in the drawer in his nightstand. (Margo liked to tape hers up around her vanity, but Eliot kept them where only  _ he _ had access. His sappiness was  _ only _ his business,  _ thank you. _ )

 

Eliot dressed at his station and made sure he took lots of time to cool down and fix his hair. Winking at himself in the mirror, he shut off the station lights and made his way to the bathroom to get some cold water on his face before going to check on Margo. His head was buried in his phone, scrolling through a stream of opening night well wishes, but when he pushed open the door to the men’s bathroom, he looked up and immediately saw Quentin.

 

Quentin, who was wearing a classic black suit that was _very_ well tailored with dapper dress shoes and a crisp white collared shirt with a tragedy and comedy mask pin on his suit jacket and his hair up in his bun and a very confused look in his eyes as he fumbled with a bow tie around his neck.

 

When Eliot entered the room, both of them looked up and locked eyes.

 

Eliot froze, half in the room, one hand still on the door.

 

His chest tightened.

 

“Hey,” Quentin breathed.

 

“Hey,” He breathed back.

 

Another breath’s silence between them. 

 

He swallowed. 

 

“You look....” Eliot began. “You look very nice in your suit,”

 

Quentin sheepishly smiled. Eliot knew that if his hair was down, he’d be trying to hide behind it. 

 

He was grateful for the bun, so that he could take in all of the smile. 

 

Q gestured back to him. “You also..... look.... very nice.... in your suit,” 

 

Eliot awkwardly returned the smile and actually entered the room and joined Q’s side in front of the mirrors and sinks. While being very conscious of Quentin’s presence by his side, he turned on the sink, leaned down, and used his hands to cup water up to his face and his lips.

 

He thought he heard a strangled noise from Quentin, but it was probably just the faucet.

 

When he surfaced back up for air, Quentin was awkwardly fumbling with his bowtie again.

 

The poor boy clearly had no idea what he was doing.

 

And he was clearly trying not to draw attention the fact that he had no idea what he was doing.

 

And it was adorable.

 

And Eliot knew how to tie a bowtie.

 

But he wasn’t really sure where they stood right now.

 

_ Fuck it. _

 

“Do you need help with that?” Eliot asked, carefully.

 

Quentin’s shoulders sagged, admitting defeat. “Yes, please,” He mumbled.

 

Eliot tried not to laugh.

 

Quentin turned towards Eliot and with gentle hands, he began to fashion the bow tie.

 

Eliot tried very hard to only focus on the bowtie itself and nothing else.

 

He tried very hard to pretend like he didn’t see Quentin staring up at him.

 

With his soft  _ fucking _ eyes.

 

“Eliot?” Quentin broke the silence, his voice just barely above a whisper.

 

Eliot hands faltered for only a second before they continued their work.

 

“Yes, Q?” He responded.

 

Eliot finished the bowtie and smoothed out the shoulders of Q’s jacket.

 

Quentin took a deep breath. “Just for tonight, can we...” He trailed off.

 

Eliot’s eyes flicked up to meet Quentin’s.

 

“Just for tonight, can we pretend that everything’s okay?”

 

All of the air was knocked out of Eliot’s lungs.

 

His hands stilled on Quentin’s chest.

 

He knew that his face was betraying him.

 

He knew that it was showing exactly every emotion he meant to be hiding in his box.

 

He cleared his throat.

 

“Yeah, Q,” He said, “We can do that,”

 

A small smile was exchanged between them.

 

It wasn’t quite like the smiles they used to share.

 

Quentin thanked him for doing his bowtie.

 

And then he ducked out of the bathroom, 

 

Leaving to go join the party

 

Leaving Eliot to take a moment to recenter himself

 

Leaving Eliot to clutch the sides of the sink

 

Leaving Eliot.

 

Hmm.

 

Okay.

 

Chucked.

 

Margo and Alice were waiting for him in the Green Room and the first thing out of his mouth when he saw them was a very long and drawn out: “Daaaaaaaaaammmmmmmnnnnnn,”

 

Margo was wearing a very sexy black pant suit, but Margo wouldn’t be caught dead in a stiff button up, so she just buttoned up the blazer as far as it could go and let the hints of her black lace bra peek out. Alice’s outfit was indeed complimentary to Margo’s, as she was wearing a low cut and long sleeved black jumpsuit. Both of them wore heels that looked like they could kill a man, and where Margo’s hair was down and flowing, Alice’s was tucked into a neat updo.

 

They  _ would _ look good together in pictures.

 

The trio made their way the lobby and was greeted by the cheers of their company.

 

Eliot allowed himself to be engulfed in everyone else’s joy until it became his own.

 

He and Margo loaded up on the spinach puffs, ham, and cantaloupe. 

 

He clinked champagne glasses with Fen, who was wearing a stunning white dress, and met the sexy black dress, lace stockings, dark eyeliner wearing Marina who kept giving googly eyes to Fen. He gave his nod of approval to Fen, who was wrapped under Marina’s arm.

 

He ate mini brownies with Julia (who was wearing a sexy, yet innocent, lace dress with teal embroidery) and Kady (who was wearing a sexy suede green dress that exposed her midriff) and tried not to laugh at the sexual tension between the two girls.

 

He was going to have to ask his Hoolia what was going on with  _ that _ later.

 

He gave a hug to Henry right after the man toasted to the cast and crew and congratulated everyone on their hard work and massive accomplishment.

 

He even exchanged pleasantries with Penny, who was wearing a cool gray suit, and managed to shake Todd’s hand without laughing, even though the younger man was wearing a hideous tan vest and a bright red tie that did  _ not _ match at all. 

 

Quentin was there, too, sharing in the joy. Eliot tried to heed Quentin’s request, trying to pretend, just for tonight, that everything was okay.

 

 

The whole cast took a photo together.

 

All the men in the cast and Margo took a photo together.

 

Eliot and Margo took a photo together.

 

Eliot, Margo, and Quentin took a photo together.

 

Margo and Alice took a photo together.

 

Margo, Alice, Fen, Julia, and Kady took a photo together.

 

Josh, Quentin, and Penny took a photo together.

 

Fen and Marina took a photo together.

 

Julia and Quentin took a photo together.

 

Alice and Penny took a photo together.

 

Alice, Penny, Kady, Julia, Margo, Josh, and Quentin took a photo together.

 

The whole group took a photo together.

 

Todd took all the photos.

 

Eventually, the celebrations wrapped up and the party moved downtown to their favorite bar.

 

Their favorite bar was a hole in the wall place called The Library. The entrance was literally in an alleyway and the whole theme of the bar was a 1920s speakeasy. The drinks were a little bit pricier, but the atmosphere was perfect and there was always less people on weekends. Plus, the woman who owned the place, Zelda, was a doll.

 

Zelda greeted them all with a smile as they came pouring into the bar. “What’s the occasion tonight?” She asked.

 

“Opening night of  _ Peter and the Starcatcher, _ ” Penny answered, giving her a hug. 

 

(Penny worked part time at the Library, so he kept her up to date on all the theatre happenings.)

 

Zelda clapped excitedly. “Wonderful! First round’s on the house!”

 

Cheers erupted. 

 

No better way to assure the never ending love of a theatre person than to give them free booze.

 

Eliot made his way to the bar and ordered his usual: a  gin martini with two olives and a splash of olive juice on the side. Oddly specific and simple, true, but it was his favorite. The only thing that would make it better would be-

 

“Whatcha drinking?” Quentin came up from behind him.

 

“The usual,” Eliot said, “What are you getting?”

 

Quentin shrugged. “I’m in the mood for whiskey tonight, actually,”

 

Eliot grinned. “Oh, not red wine? The celebrations are getting to you, Coldwater,”

 

Quentin laughed, ordered his drink, and turned back to Eliot, leaning on the bar with one elbow. 

 

“Having a good opening night so far?” Q asked.

 

Eliot’s smile felt more genuine (and gin driven) this time. “The best,”

 

Quentin’s smile was warm, and it matched the feeling in Eliot’s chest. “I’m glad,” 

 

The bartender gave Quentin his drink and the pair clinked their glasses together.

 

“Well, I’m gonna go stop Julia from fighting with Kady,” Quentin got off the bar, “but I’ll see you around tonight, yeah?”

 

“Yeah, what’s up with those two?” Eliot stopped him.

 

Quentin rolled his eyes. “Remind me to tell you about it when we’re not in the public haunt of men,”

 

Eliot’s eyebrows shot up. “Nice Romeo and Juliet reference, Q. I didn’t know you had that in you,”

 

“What can I say?” He shrugged, “I’m full of surprises,”

 

He smiled one more time before slipping away.

 

Eliot watched him go.

 

It wasn’t quite like the teasings they used to have.

 

_ (Can we pretend that everything's okay?) _

 

Hmm.

 

Chucked.

 

Eliot downed the rest of his drink and ordered another.

 

Well. 

 

Time to get shitfaced. 

 

_(Just for tonight-)_

 

He joined Margo, Alice, Fen, and Marina on the couches by the fireplace. 

 

Josh made a brief appearance before admitting he was going to go home and get high. 

 

Margo ordered them a basket of chicken and fries for their little group to share. 

 

Todd didn’t stick around long, because the poor sucker was still underage and it wasn’t fun for him to be there unless he was drinking too.

 

On the other side of the room, Penny, Quentin, Julia, and Kady were playing some kind of board game on one of the Library’s coffee tables, laughing loudly.

 

Eliot got another drink.

 

_(-can we pretend-)_  


 

Margo loudly and drunkenly told the story of the first time that she and Eliot met at a party their freshman year, with Eliot correcting details as she went.

 

Fen and Marina slipped out onto the back patio at one point, for Marina to smoke and probably for them to make out.

 

Julia crawled into Kady’s lap and started playing with her hair.

 

Eliot told the story of the one time his scene partner shit himself on stage.

 

_ (-that everything's okay?) _

 

Todd briefly returned because he’d left his house keys in the bar’s bathroom.

 

Fen and Marina came back in with smeared lipstick.

 

Alice tried to order a Long Island Iced Tea and Eliot stopped her.

 

Penny and Quentin were sitting together and laughing.

 

Chucked.

 

_ (just for tonight) _

 

Fen told the story of when she and Eliot went to Senior Prom.

 

Margo and Marina discussed feminism.

 

Alice babbled about the light fixtures in the room.

 

Penny’s arm was draped over the back of the couch he and Q were sitting on.

 

Chucked.

 

_ (can we pretend) _

 

Margo ordered a round of shots for “All my bitches.”

 

Julia and Kady left together.

 

Eliot laughed with Margo and Fen till he cried.

 

_ (everything's okay) _

 

Alice stared at Margo with absolute heart eyes.

 

Penny’s hand brushed Quentin’s knee.

 

Eliot had to turn himself so he couldn’t see the other side of the room.

 

Chucked.

 

_(just)_

 

Zelda demanded that they all drank waters.

 

Alice fell asleep tucked into Margo’s side.

 

_ (for) _

 

Marina, who didn’t drink, said she’d take everyone home in her SUV.

 

Fen laced her arm through a very drunk Eliot’s and guided him to the car.

 

_ (tonight) _

 

Alice leaned on Margo.

 

Eliot couldn’t look at Quentin.

 

He didn’t want to know if Quentin was leaning on Penny.

 

_ (Just for tonight, can we pretend everything’s okay?) _

 

Eliot woke to sunlight pouring in from his window.

 

He was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tRiViA  
> -yes this is how my college openings went  
> -yes i know an actor who shit himself onstage  
> -yes my college town had a speakeasy bar called the Library  
> -yes there are TWO subtle lesbian movie references in this chapter.


	11. Sliced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor Trigger Warning, there's a mention of blood from a cut in the chapter.

With the dawn breaking on the new day, the treaty-

 

_ (Just for tonight, can we pretend that everything’s okay?) _

 

-was broken.

 

First of all, Eliot woke up pissy.

 

He woke up with a quiet spark of anger in his chest.

 

He woke up with his head pounding and stomach swirling and  _ angry  _ at the world.

 

And at alcohol.

 

And at Quentin.

 

And then at himself for being angry at Quentin.

 

Eliot knew he had absolutely no right to be upset that Quentin may or may not have slept with Penny.

 

Quentin was a grown ass adult.

 

And if he wanted to sleep with Penny, he absolutely could.

 

No matter what icky nasty mushy gushy stupid bad dumb feelings Eliot has.

 

Had.

 

He  _ had _ those feelings.

 

Quentin had clearly moved on. 

 

So why couldn’t Eliot?

 

Why couldn’t he move past the fluttering in his stomach everytime Quentin laughed?

 

Why couldn’t he stop reaching for that second tea cup, even when he was alone?

 

Why couldn’t he stop his heart from picking up speed every time their hands brushed?

 

Why couldn’t he get the memory of Quentin in his bed out of his mind?

 

Why couldn’t he get the taste of Quentin off his tongue?

 

Why couldn’t Eliot quit him?

 

Eliot didn’t leave his room until noon, when he went downstairs to scrounge around for some food. When he got down there, Quentin and Margo were already sitting at the island, and both of them looked about as terrible as he felt.

 

Despite the fact that they were inside with the lights off, Margo was wearing sunglasses and rubbing her temples. Quentin had his head down on the counter and was wearing his shirt inside out. They looked delightfully hungover.

 

Upon his entrance, Margo groaned.

 

“El, I think I died last night,” Margo said.

 

“I think I died this morning,” Eliot responded, pouring himself a glass of water.

 

“I feel great,” Quentin mumbled into the counter

 

“Really?” Eliot asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

 

“No,” Quentin lifted his head. “I threw up earlier,”

 

“I bet you felt great last night,” Eliot muttered into his water cup.

 

_ Oops, that slipped out _ .

 

Quentin furrowed his brow. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 

_ Well, the morning was off to a great start. _

 

Eliot turned away and began rifling through the fridge. “Nothing,”

 

“Do you have something you want to say to me, Eliot?”

 

Eliot practically snapped around to him, not really sure what he wanted to say, not exactly sure he had words on the tip of his tongue, not even sure why he felt so-

 

“Will the two of you shut the fuck up?” Margo groaned before Eliot could say anything. 

 

But he hadn’t looked away from Quentin, whose face was sour and scrunched up in a very hungover scowl.

 

Eliot clenched his jaw.  “Let’s just put last night behind us and move on,”

 

_ And not discuss any personal details _ .

 

“Fine with me,” Quentin mumbled as his head clunked back down on the table. 

 

The spark in his chest flickered.

 

“Oh my god, we have to do a show today,” Margo groaned, and she clunked her head down on the table too.

 

“Well, I’m going to go eat an entire bag of bread and shower,” Eliot said while grabbing his bag of grapes from the fridge.

 

Quentin and Margo just groaned in response.

 

Eliot mostly kept to himself until the show that night. He was physically incapable of concentrating on homework for longer than five seconds, so he mostly just slept off his hangover and watched new conspiracy theory documentaries on Netflix. 

 

The housemates left before he did, so when he arrived at the theatre, Quentin was already in the green room. 

 

Drinking tea.

 

And laughing with Penny.

 

Well, Penny, Kady, Julia and Quentin were all laughing together at a table.

 

But Penny was still there.

 

The spark in Eliot's chest that had been simmering during the day ignited again. A quiet anger, at Penny, at Quentin, and at himself for being angry in the first place. It was like a campfire flickering on a cold autumn night, in his chest and crawling up his spine.

 

He  _ knew _ he had no reason to be upset.

 

And he felt so  _ stupid _ for being upset.

 

It wasn’t the first time Quentin had drunkenly hooked up with a fellow theatre major.

 

Eliot didn’t know why he thought that the first time would have been the last time.

 

That didn’t stop him from shoving past everyone in the Green Room til he got to the dressing rooms, where he could sit in silence. 

 

And he stayed there.

 

He was  _ not _ pouting.

 

He was a grown ass man.

 

He was  _ sulking _ .

 

But when the time came for it, he grabbed his sword and made his way to the stage for fight call.

 

Eliot thought his sword felt a bit off today, but he chalked it up to not being in a good headspace

 

Fight call would be the  _ perfect _ time to get out his pent up aggressions out before the show. 

 

Fight call was the time where all of the actors marked through and then ran through any sword fights, slaps, punches, or lifts before the show to make sure everyone was being perfectly safe. It was ran by the designated fight captain, and very serious business.

 

“Alright, half speed,” their fight captain said.

 

And so Eliot stepped through the motions of the sword fight. Hit by hit, jab by jab, blow by blow, swipe by swipe, step by step, strike by strike, making sure they were hitting their marks and not each other.

 

Then, when they had finished going through it at half speed, he saw Quentin.

 

Quentin used to watch every fight call, but after things got…..funky, he had stopped. 

 

But there he was today, leaning against the wall in his downstage left corner, watching.

 

Crackle, crackle went the fire in Eliot’s chest.

 

“Okay, let’s go full speed,” their fight captain said.

 

Full speed.

 

Hit by hit.

 

_ (Quentin’s smile the first day they met) _

 

Jab by jab.

 

_ (Quentin’s laughter on late night drives) _

 

Blow by blow.

 

_ (Quentin’s hands clutching silk sheets) _

 

Swipe by swipe.

 

_ (Quentin’s eyes avoiding Eliot’s) _

 

Step by step.

 

_ (Penny’s hand on Quentin’s knee) _

 

Strike by-

 

_ Slice _ .

 

Eliot’s sword went clattering to the floor in pieces.

 

It took him a moment to process what happened.

 

He saw the blood before he actually felt anything. 

 

And when he did feel something, it was searing pain slicing down his forearm like  _ fire _ . 

 

His hands started shaking 

 

and his stomach flipped 

 

and the world went fuzzy.

 

It also took him a moment to realize that someone was saying his name. 

 

“Eliot. Eliot, hey, look at me,” The voice said. 

 

Eliot forced his eyes to tear away from the red seeping out of pale skin to see...Quentin. 

 

Quentin, soft eyes Quentin, was standing in front of him, saying his name.

 

“Eliot, focus on me,”

 

Eliot forced himself to concentrate on Quentin’s brown eyes and Quentin’s gentle voice and Quentin’s strong hands gripping his shoulders.

 

“Eliot, I need you to walk with me, okay? We need to get you off the stage, okay?” Quentin said.

 

Eliot nodded, and allowed Quentin to guide him to the backstage. He vaguely heard Quentin say “-someone get the  _ fucking _ first aid kit-“ but he was more focused on one foot in front of the other and Quentin’s arm around his shoulders. 

 

Quentin guided him to the nearest chair backstage and Eliot kept his focus solely on the man in front of him, solely on those soft brown eyes.

 

He didn’t hear Margo yelling at Todd and he didn’t see Kady go by with a mop and a roll of paper towels and he didn’t see Julia appear and then disappear with the first aid kit.

 

He only saw Quentin.

 

He saw Quentin’s gloved hands wiping away the blood and tearing open gauze packets and applying pressure and swiftly working to get the wound cleaned and bandaged as soon as possible.

 

It wasn’t deep, Eliot could see that now. 

 

And couldn’t be more than four inches long.

 

But it hurt  _ so _ much.

 

And it was gushing.

 

He saw Quentin’s shaking hands and panicked eyes as they both flitted anxiously over Eliot’s forearm. He saw the rapid rising and falling of Quentin’s chest.

 

“Quentin,” Eliot’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he could taste the copper.

 

Q didn’t hear him.

 

“Quentin,” Eliot said again.

 

He looked up. 

 

Quentin was blinking a _lot_ with those soft eyes.

 

Was he trying to hold back tears?

 

Quentin drew in a shaky breath. “Your sword broke,” he said, staring up at Eliot from where he was kneeling on the floor. “The bolt wasn’t on right and part of it shattered and it…” Another shaky breath. “It broke,”

 

“I’m fine,” Eliot said, even though he was still nauseous, and his hands were still shaking.

 

Quentin returned to his first aid work, which was mostly done at that point. Bandages wrapped around his forearm tightly and held gauze in place over the cut. Quentin was taking a wet wipe to Eliot’s arm, getting off the rest of the blood that had gone sticky on his skin. When his arm was finally clean, the wet wipe was thrown away and the gloves with it, but the hand returned.

 

Quentin’s shaky hand ran up and down Eliot’s forearm, like he was checking to make sure it was still there, like he had to  _ feel _ it to know that Eliot was okay, until his hand stopped at Eliot’s own shaking hand.

 

Quentin’s fingertips brushed at Eliot’s palm.

 

“There was a lot of blood,” Quentin choked, “And I  _ saw  _ it happen, Eliot. I saw you get sliced right in front of me and there was just so much blood and-” Quentin stared at their hands. “And it  _ broke _ , Eliot. It  _ broke, _ ” he repeated, voice cracking. 

 

Gently, Eliot curled his fingers in, capturing the fingers that had been dancing on his palm.

 

They gripped each other’s hands like a life line. 

 

“It can be  _ fixed _ ,” Eliot whispered.

 

He ran his thumb over Quentin’s knuckles, and their eyes locked.

 

Eliot couldn’t breathe.

 

Those soft  _ fucking _ eyes were  _ definitely  _ holding back tears.

 

And they weren’t talking about the sword anymore.

 

He could barely feel his throbbing arm over his beating heart. 

 

Eliot opened his mouth, wanting to say something, anything, and then-

 

“So, do I need to call an ambulance or something?” 

 

Penny.

 

Like he’s been shocked by a spark of electricity, Eliot snatched his hand away from Quentin’s and curled his arm to his chest.

 

“I’m fine,” Eliot looked away. 

 

Quentin made a soft noise. “Eliot,  _ please- _ “

 

“I said, I’m  _ fine _ ,”

 

Quentin reached out with his hand, but Eliot, stubborn and still fuzzy and  _ entirely _ thrown off by the hovering presence of Penny, leaned back in his chair, away from Quentin’s hand.

 

“El-” Quentin’s voice broke.

 

“I need Margo,” Eliot choked out. 

 

“I’ll go get her,” Penny said, and then he was off.

 

“Eliot-” Quentin tried again, but Eliot shook his head.

 

It hurt too much.

 

Better to bandage it up and hold it close to his chest so it wouldn’t get hurt again.

 

And he wasn’t talking about his arm anymore. 

 

Margo was there in seconds, Penny, Julia, Todd, and Kady behind her. 

 

Quentin scrambled back so that Margo could kneel in front of him.

 

“Q, I need you to go print out an accident report form,” Margo said, eyes on Eliot.

 

Quentin was also looking at Eliot, and he could feel those eyes burning into him. 

 

Slicing open his heart. 

 

Eliot didn’t look up to meet those eyes.

 

He kept them trained on the floor beside him.

 

And then Quentin was off in the direction of the printer. 

 

Eliot insisted that he do the show that night. He didn’t need stitches and as long as he took it easy, he would be fine. He probably would have felt worse if they had cancelled the show for him. 

 

So he filled out the accident report while Margo got on the phone with Henry and filled him in on what happened. 

 

Henry and Margo both agreed that Eliot could go on for the night as long as they nixed the fight sequence for this performance. Eliot’s arm was still weak and a little shaky and the sword was going to need serious repairs anyway. So they held the house a little bit longer, meaning they didn’t let audience members in take their seats just yet, while they talked and walked through the slight changes Henry suggested to fix the scene, at least for tonight.

 

Oh, the life of theatre.

 

The rest of the show went by without another hiccup or scratch.

 

And Quentin was practically hovering over him all night.

 

Anytime he came off stage, he asked how Eliot was feeling. 

 

Checking to make sure that he was still good to keep doing the show and checking to make sure the bandages hadn’t seeped through and into the costume and what not.

 

Quentin also changed his bandages at intermission.

 

And at the end of the show when he got out of costume.

 

“Better use up the theatre’s resources while you can,” Quentin said.

 

That was all he really said outside of “Let me check your bandages,” and “How are you feeling?”

 

And he never really looked Eliot in the eyes.

 

Which was fine with Eliot.

 

_ No, it wasn’t _ .

 

Eliot left the theatre as soon as he could, driving back to the Cottage with his injured arm cradled to his chest.

 

Quentin didn’t come back to the Cottage that night.

 

So, Margo helped him that night before he went to bed.

 

She looked like she had something on her mind as she unwrapped his bandages.

 

She bit her lip. “Quentin’s staying at his basement tonight,” She said, completely unprompted.

 

Eliot didn’t say anything.

 

“He said something about needing some quiet introvert time on Sunday, but...” Margo trailed off.

 

Eliot looked away from her.

 

“El, I  _ saw _ the look on his face when you got cut,” Margo said while cleaning the wound.

 

Eliot bit his lip.

 

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed the weird tension going on,” she looked up at him. 

 

Eliot clenched his jaw.

 

Margo replaced the gauze. “Do you wanna tell me what’s going on between you two?”

 

“No,” The answer was firm and immediate.

 

Margo sighed. 

 

“Okay, Eliot. I’m not gonna press,” She secured his bandages in place, and squeezed his hand. “But whatever it is, you’ve got to deal with this, El. This is  _ our _ Q. And I don’t like seeing  _ either _ of you like this,”

 

She slipped out of his room and shut the door behind him.

 

Eliot tossed and turned all night.

 

Sunday, they didn’t have a show. 

 

But he did have lunch with Julia.

 

They had planned on the lunch days ago, so that maybe Eliot could finally get caught up on what the fuck was going on between her and Kady. They met at their favorite burrito place just off campus, and grotesquely munched into their massive burritos.

 

“So what the fuck is going on between you and Kady?” Eliot asked, eloquently.

 

Julia shrugged. “We’re both fire signs,”

 

“Hoolia, that’s not a real answer and you know it,”

 

Julia rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, Eliot. We’ve got sexual chemistry like crazy, but we fight all the time. There’s a reason why we didn’t work out the first go round,”

 

Eliot waved his hand. “So why is there a second go round at all?”

 

“Because she’s good in bed and I like her,” 

 

Now Eliot rolled his eyes. “There’s more to a relationship than sex, Hoolia,”

 

Julia scoffed. “Come on,  _ that _ coming from  _ you?” _ As soon as the words escaped her mouth, she seemed to realize what she said. “Shit, El, sorry, that was a low blow,”

 

“But well deserved,” He brushed it off. “I’m just saying, if you want to keep going about this weird anger fueled series of hookups that will eventually crash and burn, by all means, be my guest,” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “But if you  _ actually _ like her and if you  _ actually _ want to be something more with her, you two have  _ just _ got to talk,”

 

Julia huffed.

 

Eliot quirked an eyebrow at her. “Do you want something more with her?”

 

Pathetically, Julia nodded.

 

“Then you’ve got to talk to her,” Eliot said, and Julia groaned.

 

“Talking is  _ hard _ , Eliot!” 

 

He couldn’t help but laugh and send a  _ very _ sincere pout in her direction. “Oh, baby, I know. But right now, whatever the fuck is going on between y’all does not seem healthy,”

 

Julia stared at her burrito. “I  _ know _ ,” She sighed. “And I’ll talk to her,”

 

“Good,”

 

“Eventually,”

 

“ _ Hoolia _ ,”

 

She grinned and took a bite out of her burrito. He rolled his eyes and sipped his sweet tea.

 

“Anyways,” She said, swallowing. “Do you have any idea what’s up with Q?”

 

Eliot’s pretty sure his heart fell out of his ass. “What do you mean?”

 

Julia sighed. “He’s just been particularly moody for a couple of weeks. I’m not like quite at the stage where I’m like...” She waved her hands, “.... _ actually _ worried about him. But the last couple of days have been like another level of pissy and I was hoping that you,” She gestured to him, “as his roommate and friend, might have some insight,”

 

Eliot hesitated, and then shook his head. “No, I don’t,”

 

_ Liar, liar, heart on fire. _

 

“What’s been tipping you off about his behavior?” Eliot asked.

 

Julia played with her napkins. “I don’t know, just little stuff. Like on opening-”

 

“Well, opening night he should have had a great time,” Eliot said, without thinking.

 

_ Oops. _

 

Julia furrowed her brow at him. “What makes you say that?”

 

_ Fucking shit _ .

 

Eliot nonchalantly studied his burrito. “Well, he hooked up with Penny, so that should have been a good time right? I can speak to his,  _ uhh, _ Penny’s ability in bed,”

 

_ Too late to back out now, asshole! _

 

“Eliot,” Julia said, in a  _ very  _ specific tone of voice. “Quentin and Penny did  _ not _ hook up opening night, and I don’t know why you think that they did.”

 

Eliot nearly dropped his burrito when he looked up at her. “Um, what?” 

 

Julia shook her head. “Penny hit on  _ him _ , for sure, but Quentin turned him down,”

 

“What?” Eliot said, slightly sharper.

 

“Yeah,” Julia said, still giving him a weird look, “It was a  _ whole _ thing. Penny was like,  _ hardcore _ flirting with him and Quentin wanted nothing to do with him. At one point, Penny got like,” Julia made a screwy face, “A little  _ too _ cozy, but without complete crossing a line? But Quentin was uncomfortable and the whole thing was awkward,”

 

_ (Penny’s hand brushed Quentin’s knee.) _

 

“What?” seemed to be all Eliot could say.

 

Julia bit her lip. “Yeah, and that’s when Quentin had to like, push Penny off of him a little bit? Penny totally and absolutely backed down when Q was clear that he wasn’t interested, so like  _ that _ wasn’t an issue.” Julia shrugged. “But Q was still a little bit upset by the whole thing.”

 

_ (Eliot had to turn himself so he couldn’t see the other side of the room.) _

 

“What?!”

 

“He wouldn’t like, really talk to me about it?” Julia frowned, “Which is why I think something is off with him. Getting hit on at a bar isn’t something  _ new _ to Quentin, and he and Penny are cool now, so I’m not sure what’s different this time around.” She took a sip of her sweet tea, “I just think something more is going on,”

 

Eliot blinked.

 

Well.

 

Shit.

 

Fuck.

 

Fucking shit.

 

Shit fucking fuck.

 

He had  fucked up.

 

_ (Eliot couldn’t look at Quentin-) _

 

_ (-Eliot practically snapped around to him-) _

 

_ (-Eliot snatched his hand away from Quentin’s-) _

 

_ (-Eliot leaned away from Quentin’s hand-) _

 

_ (-Quentin never really looked Eliot in the eyes.) _

  
He had fucked up  _ big time _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~tRiViA~  
> -Last summer I SM'd Romeo & Juliet, and this exact thing happened with the sword breaking and slicing the actor's arm during fight call, so I can verify that this is a real thing that happens and that this is the proper protocol for when something like this happens.  
> -LISTEN I HAVE TO PUT A GAY MOVIE REFERENCE IN AS OFTEN AS POSSIBLE.  
> -the "We're both fire signs" is a direct quote from a conversation I had with an IRL Kady/Julia type lesbian couple lol  
> -I wrote this whole chapter on my phone during tech when i had nothing to do. It is a labor of LOVE. Hope you guys enjoyed it!


	12. The Kitty Cat Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I want to say thank you for all the love you guys have been showing me and this story. This lil AU has grown beyond what I could have originally dreamed it could be, and I love that y’all are loving it. It is deeply appreciated. I also appreciate how you guys stuck through all that angst!! You did it!! You got through it!!! We did it together! 
> 
>  
> 
> Now please enjoy the conclusion of Act Two: Feral

Monday morning, Eliot drove to the theatre like a man on a mission.

 

He was going to find Quentin Makepeace Coldwater.

 

And they were going to _ fucking  _ talk.

 

He rehearsed what he wanted to say on the entire drive to campus.

 

“Quentin,” he said to his empty car, “I was wrong about everything. Please, give me another chance to make things right,” 

 

He shook his head. 

 

Too much like a cheesy rom.

 

“Quentin,” he said, “Wanna fuck?”

 

Absolutely not.

 

“Quentin,” he tried again, “I’ve been an idiot, and I’m sorry,”

 

Well, that was a start.

 

He’d figure out the rest when he had Quentin right in front of him.

 

He pulled into the theatre’s parking lot five minutes before Q’s shift at Brakebills South was supposed to be over.

 

It was now or never.

 

Eliot power walked into the theatre and into the maze, hoping to cut Quentin off before he made it to the Green Room with everyone else. He went through the hallways and down the stairs and over the river and through the woods to the direction of Brakebills South.

 

And the gods heard his prayer.

 

He nearly ran into Quentin as he turned a corner.

 

“Quentin!” He exclaimed, and breathed a sigh of relief. A small smile tugged at his lips, and he reached out to touch Quentin’s arm.

 

But Quentin scowled _. _

 

Like, actually  _ scowled. _

 

And he kept walking. “I don’t want to talk to you,” He said. 

 

Well, that wasn’t in the plan. 

 

Eliot blinked in surprise and then practically chased after him.

 

Quentin yanked open a door and began clunking up the stairwell. Eliot was only a few steps behind him. 

 

“Q, wait,” he said, but the other man didn’t stop. 

 

“Leave me alone, Eliot,” Quentin’s voice was almost on the verge of annoyance. 

 

Which just made Eliot annoyed

 

“Quentin,  _ please- _ ”

 

Quentin finally did stop at the top of the stairs and turned around. His hair swung with him and for a moment, Eliot’s heart stuttered at the way the light framed Quentin’s head and poured out from behind him, almost angelic. 

 

And then he saw the  _ look  _ on Quentin’s face.

 

It was cold.

 

Cold and  _ angry _ .

 

“I have  _ nothing _ to say to you, Eliot,” Quentin clenched his jaw.

 

The anger bounced off of him and went straight to Eliot.

 

He narrowed his eyes. “ _ Excuse  _ me?”

 

“I have nothing to say to you,” Quentin crossed his arms, “And I’m not interested in what you want to say to me.”

 

Quentin spun on his heel and continued towards the Green Room.

 

“Hold on,” Eliot called after him, taking the stairs two at a time, “You can’t just walk away from me, Q. We’re not done talking-”

 

“Oh, we’re done,” Quentin turned around again so suddenly that Eliot nearly crashed into him. They were nearly chest to chest, with only a breaths distance between them. Quentin stared up at Eliot with narrowed eyes.

 

Despite the fact that Eliot was a whole head taller than Quentin, he suddenly felt very small under the other man’s glare.

 

“ _We are_ _done_ , Eliot,” Quentin enunciated every syllable, and each one felt like a stab into Eliot’s chest. Quentin didn’t even wait for a reaction from him before turning around again and yanking the door of the Green Room open.

 

“Quentin, wait-”

 

“Thank  _ God _ you guys are here!” Margo’s voice called in from the Green Room, and Eliot tried to hold back the growl growing in his throat.

 

_ Now was not a good time, Bambi _ .

 

Eliot stumbled into the Green Room to see Margo sitting with Alice tucked under her arm at their usual spot. Both girls were smiling brightly, an almost humorous direct contrast to the scowls El and Q were wearing.

 

But Eliot’s eyes were still on Quentin, who was standing in the middle of the room. He hadn’t settled at the table like he normally would’ve and he was gripping his lunch box tightly and glancing at the door. 

 

_ Please, no _ .

 

“We’ve got a party to plan, and we need your help,” Alice explained. 

 

_ Oh, fuck. Right. _

 

Alice’s birthday was this weekend. 

 

Margo has been talking about it for weeks.

 

“Actually,” Quentin was still glancing at the door. “I’m eating lunch in the library today. Gotta,  _ uh _ , start studying for midterms,”

 

Margo frowned. “Midterms aren’t for another couple weeks,”

 

“Yeah, I, um, want to get ahead,” Quentin said, completely unconvincing.

 

And then he was gone with the Green Room door swinging behind him.

 

Margo sent Eliot a very pointed look.

 

Eliot cleared his throat, and took his seat at the table, ignoring Margo’s look. “What’s the party theme for this one?”

 

Alice huffed. “Well, I  _ wanted _ a laser themed party,”

 

Eliot made a face. “Lasers, Alice, really?”

 

Alice nodded eagerly.

 

“Yeah,” Margo rolled her eyes, “I vetoed that. Instead, we’re doing a cats theme,”

 

“Bambi Hanson, if you make me play the  _ Cats _ soundtrack in our home, I will burn it to the ground.”

 

Margo swatted at him. “Not like that, El. Alice doesn’t like flashy parties-“

 

“Except for lasers, apparently,”

 

“-so we’re going simple,” Margo ignored him. “Just slap some people in cat ears and get them drunk on Kitty Punch and call it a day. Whatever my Kitty Cat wants on her birthday, she gets,” 

 

Despite the fact that Alice had originally wanted lasers  _ (apparently) _ she was absolutely beaming at the idea of a Kitty Cat themed party just for her. Or perhaps she was just beaming under the attention of Margo’s googly eyed gaze.

 

Margo pecked her cheek and Eliot wanted to vomit.

 

“You two are sickening,” he said, but they were only looking at each other.

 

“Yeah, we know,” Margo said, brushing a strand of Alice’s hair behind her ear.

 

Alice blushed, and turned her attention to Eliot. “Are you getting excited for Christmas Carol?”

 

Eliot groaned. “Alice, we  _ just _ opened Peter. I haven’t even started looking at my Carol script,”

 

Margo shrugged. “But you’re playing Young Ebenezer again, right? Same as last year?”

 

“Well, yeah,” Eliot sighed. “But I’ve still got to re-memorize all my lines, which will suck. Have you guys found a third ASM yet?”

 

Margo gave him another pointed look. “Yeah, Quentin agreed to do it,”

 

Eliot looked away and began digging into his lunch. “So you, Q, and Kady right?”

 

“Oh, I didn’t know Kady was the other ASM,” Alice chimed in.

 

Margo grinned. “Fuck yeah, she is. The Dream Team is back together again,” Then she shrugged. “Plus Q. But he’s good, too,”

 

“I guess Q liked ASMing then?” Alice questioned.

 

“Yeah,” Margo answered. “He doesn’t want to do it like, professionally. But he is enjoying it and he’ll keep doing it while he’s in college,”

 

Eliot hummed in response.

 

Hmmm.

 

Christmas Carol rehearsals started the day after  _ Peter  _ closing.

 

Quentin was working on Christmas Carol. 

 

Eliot was acting in Christmas Carol.

 

Christmas Carol had the longest run of the season, clocking in at 32 performances over the course of a month.

 

_ (“We’re done, Eliot,”) _

 

Well, this was going to be fun.

 

The week leading up to the Kitty Cat Party was probably the longest week of Eliot’s life.

 

He barely saw Quentin, and any time he did, it was like the two of them were a pair of lit matches next to gasoline. They only spoke to each other in angry snippets because they couldn’t actually hold a conversation these days. Every little thing seemed to set them off, whether it was leaving dirty dishes in the sink or a prop hand off going slightly wonky, everything was just dragging the matches closer and closer to the gushing gasoline. 

 

Quentin was rarely at the Cottage.

 

And Eliot tried to avoid the Green Room.

 

And Margo kept giving him shitty looks every time she walked in on them on the verge of a fight over something tiny. Somehow, it was always her.

 

Eliot knew that their fights were stupid, but that didn’t stop them from happening.

 

At the show:

 

“Quentin, where’d you put my prop?”

 

“On the prop table where it  _ belongs _ , Eliot,”

 

“There’s no need for you to get snippy,”

 

“Well, if you’d put your own damn prop back on the table, I wouldn’t have to babysit you,”

 

“ _ Babysit _ me? You’re not-”

  
“ _ Boys, _ ” Margo would cut them off.

 

At the Cottage:

 

“Eliot, did you eat the rest of my blueberries?”

 

“Okay, I didn’t know they were your  _ special _ blueberries-”

 

“I didn’t say they were  _ special _ , I just asked if you ate them,”

 

“Maybe you should label your food in the fridge so no one else eats it, Quentin”

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t eat food that doesn’t belong to you-”

 

_ “Boys,”  _ Margo would call from across the house.

 

In Class:

 

“Will you hand Professor Sutherland my paper while you’re up, Quentin?”

 

“Why can’t you just do it yourself, Eliot?”

 

“ _ BOYS _ ,” Margo would hiss at them before it could get further in front of the entire class. 

 

But somehow, they made it to Saturday night without completely exploding on each other. 

 

The party started at 10:30pm, which meant that it really didn’t start until 11. 

 

A sea of cat ears filled the downstairs of their house, and Eliot allowed himself to get lost in it. 

 

After the absolute shit show that the last few weeks had been, Eliot wanted one night, just one  _ fucking _ night to get drunk with his friends at a party without it turning into a disaster or The Sad Hours. That shouldn’t be too much to ask for, right?

 

Right?

 

_ Wrong. _

 

In the first hour, Eliot got pleasantly tipsy. He and Margo and Alice sang along to all their favorite songs and he even let Margo put a pair of horrid looking cat ears on his head.

 

He got rid of them as soon as she turned around, but she didn’t seem to notice.

 

And there was no sign of Quentin. 

 

The second hour, Eliot got deliciously drunk. He was so delightfully drunk that when Quentin came downstairs and into the kitchen, carrying a mostly-drunk bottle of wine, he didn’t even notice.

 

That was a lie.

 

Of course he noticed. 

 

He honed in on Quentin’s presence the  _ second _ he entered the room. 

 

His eyes followed Quentin’s every move as he met Julia in the kitchen.

 

He heard Julia screech Quentin’s name and wrap him in a tight hug.

 

And Eliot, deliciously drunk Eliot, found himself  _ angry _ .

 

The kind of angry he couldn’t explain. 

 

Maybe it was because he’d had a shitty few weeks.

 

Maybe it was because he had been such a  _ stupid _ idiot.

 

Maybe it was because Quentin had been pissy towards him all week.

 

Maybe it because they’d both been practically  _ feral _ around each other since they’d fucked.

 

Maybe it was because he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the fact that they’d fucked.

 

But he was the kind of drunk angry where he wanted Quentin to  _ know _ that he was angry.

 

Eliot made his way to the kitchen with a purpose in his step and his empty cup clutched in his hand. He was  _ technically _ making his way to the punch, but he made sure that he bumped into Quentin on the way there.

 

“Bumped” is putting it lightly.

 

He shoved past Quentin with such force that Q spilled the shot he was in the middle of taking.

 

The liquid spilled all over Quentin’s shirt and Eliot could smell the whiskey on him.

 

_ Shit, didn’t mean to go that hard.  _

 

But, on the other hand.

 

 _Fuck it._ _Serves him right._

 

“Oops,” Eliot drawled, turning around. “Sorry, Q,”

 

Quentin’s look of rage matched the aching feeling in Eliot’s chest. “What the fuck is your  _ problem _ , Eliot?”

 

Well, that was easy.

 

Eliot shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Quentin,”

 

Julia looked back and forth between them with a look of extreme confusion on her face. “Q, it was just an accident-“

 

“No, it fucking wasn’t,” Quentin snapped. “He did it on purpose, just to piss me off,”

 

Eliot gasped dramatically, drunkenly, and said “I would  _ never _ ,” at the same time that Julia said “Q, you’re drunk, stop,”

 

Julia tried to pull him away, sending a concerned look in Eliot’s direction, but Quentin wiggled out of her grasp. 

 

“I’ve had enough of your shit, Eliot,” Quentin practically snarled at him.

 

Eliot’s eyes narrowed. “ _ My _ shit? Let’s talk about your  _ shit _ , Coldwater, because you’re full of it,”

 

Eliot didn’t even register that his voice had raised in volume, but Quentin matched it.

 

“You walk around the world like you think you own it, but newsflash,  _ asshole _ , you don’t own anything or anyone,” Quentin gestured dramatically with his hands.

 

“Hey, dickwads!” A voice cut in. Eliot’s head snapped towards it, and he saw a  _ very _ angry Margo Hanson glaring murderously at them with her hands on her hips. He also saw everyone else at the party staring at them.

 

Oops.

 

“Take it the fuck outside!” Margo shouted at them, pointing at the front door.

 

Neither of them moved, and Quentin looked back and forth between Eliot and Margo, almost like he was trying to decide if she was being serious or not. 

 

“NOW!” Margo yelled as she crossed to them, grabbing them by the shirts. She dragged them to the front door, and pushed them both out onto the porch.

 

If looks could kill, Eliot and Quentin would be six feet under. “Don’t you _ dare _ come back in until you’ve  _ fucking _ worked your _shit_ out!” She snarled, and slammed the door in their faces. 

 

The lock  _ ‘clicked’  _ into place.

 

The night air was cold.

 

Eliot shivered.

 

Quentin swiveled to face him.

 

“I can’t fucking believe you,” and then he turned again and was heading off the porch. 

 

“You can’t believe me?” Eliot scoffed. “You can’t fucking believe  _ me _ ?” He repeated, following the shorter man as he made his way around the side of the house, basically chasing him around the corner.

 

He was _ tired _ of chasing Quentin.

 

And yet, he still found himself on the side of their house in the darkness, where no one in the house hear them yell at each other. Where no one on the street could see them as they passed by. Where he felt all of his rage exploding out of him.

 

“Don’t pretend like you’re blameless in this shitfest!” Eliot accused. “And stop fucking running away from me-”

 

Quentin swiveled on his heel and Eliot nearly crashed into him.

 

Eliot always seemed to be crashing into him.

 

Quentin was right in Eliot’s face, and he could feel the warmth of the other man’s breath. 

 

He could smell the way that the wine and whiskey entwined in every exhale.

 

It was intoxicating.

 

And it just fueled his rage.

 

“You’re the one that made that stupid fucking scene in the house!” Quentin poked him in the chest.

 

Eliot threw his hands up. “That was  _ you, _ not me, but  _ everything _ has to be a scene with you, Quentin!”

 

“You’re one to fucking talk, Eliot, you don’t know how to be normal about anything in your goddamn life!”

 

_ That _ felt like a knife stabbing into his chest.

 

Eliot’s brow furrowed and he took a step back. “What the fuck does  _ that  _ mean?”

 

Quentin took a step forward, jabbing his finger at him. “That means that you wouldn’t know a good thing if it bit you on the ass!”

 

Eliot rolled his eyes and cocked his jaw. “Oh, shut the fuck up, you think you know me-”

 

“I fucking  _ do _ , Eliot!”

 

“No, you  _ fucking _ don’t!”

 

“Well if I don’t,” Quentin’s voice was raw and angry and emotional and accusatory, “it’s because  _ you _ keep pushing me away,”

 

Eliot glowered and stepped in closer. “Well I’m so  _ fucking _ sorry-”

 

“You should be!” Quentin yelled. “All I’ve ever tried to do-”

 

“-that I don’t fall into the perfect Coldwater fantasy-”

 

“-is to just get closer to you and you just keep pushing me away-” 

 

“-even though I’ve done my best to let you into my life-”

 

“-and if you would just  _ fucking _ listen to me-”

 

“-and if you’d just  _ fucking _ pay attention to me-”

 

Eliot inhaled sharply.

 

Quentin’s brow furrowed.

 

Silence filled the night air.

 

Eliot searched Quentin’s eyes.

 

Quentin’s eyes searched Eliot’s face.

 

They were inches apart.

 

Breathing heavily.

 

Quentin closed the distance and yanked him down for a kiss. 

 

It was rough. 

 

It was sloppy. 

 

It was fueled by anger. 

 

And it was  _ good _ .

 

Quentin backed Eliot up against the wall. 

 

Their teeth were clashing and their hands were tugging and they were practically moaning into each other’s mouths. It was hot and horny and eventually they had to come up for air. 

 

They stared at each other through the darkness. 

 

Breathing heavily. 

 

Lit only by moonlight.

 

And then Quentin was on his knees.

 

“Tell me that you want this,” Quentin demanded, his hand just a breath away from Eliot’s belt.

 

Eliot inhaled. “I want it,” 

 

With quick fingers, Quentin undid his buckle and tugged his pants down. The second his cock hit the cold air, Eliot groaned.

 

_ “Quentin,” _ He breathed, almost involuntarily. 

 

Q rocked back onto his heels, looking up at Eliot. “Tell me to stop and I will,”

 

Eliot locked eyes with him. “Don’t stop,”

 

And then Quentin’s mouth was on him. 

 

Eliot didn’t realize that you could control someone through their dick, but Quentin Coldwater had certainly perfected it.

 

Quentin’s mouth was on his cock and he was

 

Sinking

 

Sucking

 

Swirling

 

Swallowing

 

Slowly making Eliot lose his mind.

 

He was  _ completely _ under Quentin’s control.

 

He wanted to buck his hips, but Quentin held him in place with a firm hand.

 

He laced his fingers through Quentin’s hair, trying to tug, but Q controlled the pace.

 

He banged his head against the wall and looked up into the dark abyss, but a swift tug on his cock brought his focus back down, back down to Quentin’s eyes that were locked in his own.

 

Eliot had given and received his fair share of blow jobs in the day, but this-

 

Flicking

 

Licking

 

Kissing

 

Teasing

 

This was a whole other level.

 

_ “Q, please,” _

 

This was-

 

Shaking thighs

 

Weak knees

 

This was-

 

Pounding heart

 

Throbbing cock

 

This was-

 

Heaving chest

 

Shaky breaths

 

This was...

 

_ “Q, fuck, ” _

 

This was everything he needed. 

 

This was where they should have been all along.

 

When his cock hit the back of Quentin’s throat, he had to bite his lip to keep from groaning.

 

When Quentin swallowed him to the root, he had to clench his jaw to keep from moaning.

 

When the coil inside him was winding tighter and tighter and tighter and tighter-

 

_ “Fuck, Q, I’m gonna-” _

 

-he had to bite his sleeve to keep from crying out.

 

And Quentin took all of it.

 

All of him.

 

Staring up 

 

With those

 

Soft

 

Fucking 

 

Eyes.

 

Eliot was panting as Quentin stood up.

 

Quentin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as Eliot tucked his dick back into his pants and zipped up.

 

Silence and heavy breathing remained between them.

 

But Quentin held his gaze, steady, strong, triumphant, almost.

 

“Blame  _ that _ on Dionysus,” Quentin said, turning towards the back porch.

 

And Quentin kept walking.

 

And Eliot heard the back door open and close.

 

And Eliot was still standing there, trying to catch his breath.

 

Eliot retired to his room after that. He also slipped in through the back door and kept his head down as he weaved through the sea of cat ears. He wasn’t too keen on making eye contact or interacting with anyone right now, especially not after the scene they had caused in the kitchen earlier. 

 

And he needed to be alone in his room right now, to process everything that just happened.

 

And he didn’t want to face Margo’s wrath.

 

And he didn’t know where Quentin was and he wasn’t sure he could face him at the moment.

 

So he shut his bedroom door behind him and slid to the floor.

 

He heard the party wind down.

 

He heard the music shut off.

 

He heard a parade of people leaving their house.

 

He heard a giggling Margo and Alice be the last ones out the front door.

 

He heard the lock ‘ _ click _ ’ into place.

 

He heard a silence echoing throughout their house.

 

He went to sleep alone.

 

Eliot woke the next morning to the smell of waffles.

 

The warm scent made his way up to his room and practically dragged him out from under his blankets and opened his bedroom door.

 

Tentatively, made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen, creeping around the corner.

 

Quentin was sitting at the kitchen table, digging into a plate of waffles.

 

And across from him sat another plate of waffles, another set of silverware, and another glass of water.

 

When Eliot entered the kitchen, Quentin looked up and froze. 

 

Well, froze wasn’t the right word.

 

Froze implied a sense of....fear.....or anticipation. And that was not the case here.

 

It was more like he paused. He quietly put down his silverware and looked up at Eliot. He almost looked  _ sheepish _ . And his eyes were gentle.

 

Eliot wanted to melt under his gaze.

 

“Is Margo home?” Eliot asked, gesturing to the place setting.

 

Quentin shook his head. “She went back to Alice’s place last night,” He awkwardly gestured at the waffles. “These are.... for you,”

 

“For me?” Eliot asked, softly.

 

Quentin attempted a smile. “It’s, um... a peace offering,”

 

“Oh,” Eliot said, and took his seat across from Quentin. “Thank you,”

 

A silence passed between.

 

“Can we…” Quentin began. “Can we please just  _ talk _ ?”

 

Eliot nodded. “I’d like that,”

 

They both hesitated for a moment, waiting to see who was going to go first.

 

This was going to be hard for both of them.

 

Quentin bit his lip. “I miss you, El,” 

 

Q had always been the braver one, out of the two of them.

 

Quentin looked down at his half eaten waffles. “I’m tired of being angry. I feel like we’ve been fighting for weeks and I just...” He sighed. “I don’t want to be angry at you anymore,”

 

Eliot swallowed. “Q, I’m sorry. I was...” 

 

_ I was afraid of something real between us. And when I’m afraid, I run away. _

 

Eliot wasn’t brave enough for that kind of confession.

 

“I was an idiot. And I’m sorry,” He said, instead.

 

Quentin ran his hand through his hair. “What happened to us, El?”

 

“I don’t know. But I know….” 

 

Well, even if he wasn’t brave enough to give his full emotional truth, he knew he needed to deliver  _ something _ . 

 

“I know that I need you in my life, Q. You’re….. you’re  _ important _ to me,” 

 

Quentin moved his hand slightly, like he wanted to reach out and take Eliot’s hand, but he kept it back. “You’re important to me, too, El. Maybe we could just…” He sighed. “We could just try to be friends again?”

 

Eliot’s heart twisted. “Is that what you want?” He asked.

 

_ To just be friends?  _

 

_ Not anything more? _

 

Quentin’s eyes flicked around the room. “I- I don’t know, El. I just know we can’t keep going on like this. It’s not healthy and I.... I miss being  _ us _ ,” 

 

“I miss us, too,” Eliot said, just barely above a whisper. Quentin’s eyes came back to him, and Eliot’s chest tightened. He looked at his waffles. 

 

“Look, I know we can’t magically fix everything overnight,” Quentin said, “But I think...I think we can try,”

 

Eliot nodded. “I’d like that. To try,”

 

The corners of Quentin’s mouth tugged upwards. “How about a fresh start?”

 

“Yeah,” Eliot mirrored his smile, “A fresh start,”

 

They smiled at each other, more of a genuine smile than they’d shared in weeks, and Eliot felt like the air in the room was lighter. More at peace.

 

Eliot felt slightly better about everything, but there was one more thing he felt like he had to get off his chest before they could truly have the fresh start that Quentin wanted.

 

And whatever Quentin wanted, he’d give to him.

 

Eliot bit into his waffle. “So, um, confession time,” he grimaced. “I maybe, quite possibly, thought that you had slept with Penny on opening night,”

 

“ _Oh."_ Quentin’s eyes nearly popped out of his socket.  _ " _ So...is that why you were, like…”

 

Eliot couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah. So, uh, sorry about that,”

 

Quentin laughed too. “Well, that explains a lot,”

 

Eliot smiled sheepishly. “Not my brightest moment,” 

 

Quentin rolled his eyes and grinned while cutting into his waffle. 

 

Eliot’s chest felt slightly better. 

 

“How’s your arm?” Quentin asked through a mouth full of waffle.

 

“Still healing,” Eliot held it up, showing off the wicked scar he had. “But it’s better,”

 

“Good to hear,” Quentin nodded.

 

“I never thanked you,” Eliot said. “For taking care of me, that day,”

 

There was a look on Quentin’s face he couldn’t quite read. “Always,” Q responded.

 

They ate the rest of their breakfast—and Quentin made excellent waffles—while making small talk, catching up on things that they’ve missed in each other’s lives while things had been…. funky.

 

When they were done eating, Eliot helped Quentin in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess—and Quentin made quite a mess when he cooked—and doing the dishes.

 

It was almost domestic, the two of them quietly laughing and swapping stories while loading the dishwasher. Quentin rinsed the dishes and handed them to Eliot, who leaned down to put them in the dishwasher. Things almost felt normal again, whatever that now meant for the two of them.

 

After he finished loading in the last plate in and closed the door, Eliot stood back up and turned around and nearly crashed into Quentin.

 

Eliot’s brow furrowed. He didn’t remember Quentin standing so close to him before. 

 

But he was there now, staring up into Eliot’s eyes, standing so close to him that he could smell the syrup on his breath.

 

“Hey,” Q said.

 

Eliot’s heart started beating faster.

 

“Hey,”  Eliot responded.

 

“I, um-“ Quentin bit his lip.

 

And then Quentin tugged Eliot closer by the belt loops.

 

Eliot’s eyebrows sky rocketed.

 

“So, I was thinking,” Quentin said.

 

“I could smell the smoke,”

 

Quentin rolled his eyes, but it was almost.... _ coy. _ Playful.

 

Eliot liked where this was going.

 

“So, we’re friends again, right? A fresh start and everything?” Quentin looked down and around and anywhere but Eliot’s eyes.

 

Eliot pursed his lips and nodded. “Right,”

 

“I was thinking that we clearly, uh,” Another tug of Eliot’s belt loop, “ _ work _ together. We know it cause…” Quentin bit his lip and his eyes flicked up to Eliot's and Eliot felt it in his fucking  _ chest _ . 

 

Eliot swallowed. “Right,”

 

“So, I was thinking,” Quentin cleared his throat. “We have that...I don’t know, um…. _ proof of concept _ ? That we work? Together?” Quentin’s hands travelled from Eliot’s belt loops up to his chest, his smooth hands running up and down it. 

 

Eliot was positive that Quentin could feel his heart pounding under his fingertips.

 

“So, as grown adults,” Quentin continued, “and as  _ friends _ , there’s no reason that we can’t continue to...... _ work _ together, right?”

 

Eliot had to process that for a millisecond.

 

What Quentin was propositioning.

 

What Quentin was asking of him.

 

What Quentin was  _ wanting _ .

 

He blinked.

 

He nodded.

 

Eliot slid his hands around Quentin’s waist. “Right. I mean, if we’re mature adults-“

 

“And, we are,”

 

“-and as long as we keep it professional at the theatre-“

 

“And we absolutely can,”

 

“-then there’s really no reason that we can’t continue to keep..... _ working _ together,”

 

Quentin nodded. “Right. As friends,”

 

Eliot’s hands wandered past Quentin’s waist and down to his ass, giving it a firm squeeze. 

 

Quentin made a noise in the back of his throat.

 

“Right,” Eliot’s voice was low, “As friends,”

 

Silence filled the kitchen.

 

They were inches apart.

 

Eliot searched Quentin’s eyes, asking.

 

Quentin nodded, answering.

 

“Well, in that case,” Eliot purred.

 

Eliot backed Quentin up against the counter.

 

They grinned at each other in the morning light.

 

Breathing softly. 

 

Hearts pounding.

 

And then Eliot was on his knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Act Three: Horny ;)


	13. Peter's Closing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I somehow wrote this whole chapter in a day? And I'm posting it at 4:20am? Welcome to Act Three: Horny. And welcome back our sweet boy Q!

Quentin Coldwater has been having the shittiest weeks of all shitty weeks.

 

Working at Brakebills South and ASMing _Peter_ at the same time had been exhausting and his classes were challenging and his mental health hadn’t been great and there was drama with his parents and all of the everything with Eliot had been the literal Worst.

 

But things were getting better.

 

At Julia’s suggestion, he’d started going to the counseling center on campus.

 

And his therapist, a sweet lady named Dr. Beth, who specialized in the mental health of queer young adults, had been helping him come up with a plan to manage his work time and homework time and social time more efficiently so he wouldn’t crash and burn.

 

And things with his parents were mellowing out, at least for now.

 

And well, with Eliot…

 

“Going at each other’s throats” had a whole new meaning.

 

Julia even noticed it when she and Quentin got dinner the Sunday after the Kitty Cat Party, after he and Eliot had come to their...… agreement. He was an idiot and wore a v-neck shirt without even thinking about it.

 

Julia squinted at his collarbone. “Is that a hickey?” She asked.

 

Luckily, Quentin pulled the response: “Nah, it's a props shop mishap,” out of his ass, she actually seemed to believe him.

 

He decided to stop wearing low neck shirts after that.

 

And he’d been right, things hadn’t just fixed themselves overnight. Two weeks of constant fighting hadn’t just disappeared beneath Eliot’s silk sheets. But things were getting better.  Even in the first couple days since they’d come to their… _agreement_ , the number of fights was slowly declining, and there was a genuine effort on both sides to try and make things right.

 

Well.

 

Plus.

 

There was also the sex.

 

A lot of sex.

 

Quentin didn’t for a second believe that sex was the answer to fixing things.

 

But it was helping.

 

A lot.

 

Because it was happening.

 

A lot.

 

That was mostly the case because Margo was now spending most of her time at Alice’s place these days. The two were now officially dating, and Margo announced this to them when she came back to Cottage Monday night.

 

There was no show that night, thank the LORT, so Quentin and Eliot had agreed to have a movie night. It might have been stupid, but it was apart of their whole “let’s actually try to be friends again and fix our relationship” deal. So they curled up on the couch (with a foot of distance and a bowl of popcorn between them) and watched the original version of Newsies. They had been discussing the homoerotic subtext between Jack and Davey when Margo burst in with a delighted grin on her face.

 

“Attention, fuckwads,” she announced, “You are looking at the official girlfriend of Alice Quinn,”

 

Eliot frowned. “I thought you guys were already dating,”

 

Quentin nodded. “Yeah, I thought you guys had been dating for a while now?”

 

Margo huffed exasperatedly and rolled her eyes. “I swear to God, you two- no, we weren’t _officially_ dating until I asked her earlier today,”

 

“Oh, well, congratulations,” Quentin grinned at her.

 

“Yes, Bambi, we’re very happy for you,” Eliot applauded.

 

“Thank you, thank you,” Margo bowed gracefully to them. “The sex is going to be great tonight,” she sent them a haughty grin.

 

Quentin fought the urge to glance at Eliot.

 

Margo pointed back and forth between the two of them. “Glad to see you two have gotten your heads out of each other’s asses,”

 

_Jesus Fuck, Margo._

 

Quentin nearly choked on his popcorn and Eliot cleared his throat pointedly at Margo.

 

She frowned and shook her head. “That wasn’t right. I _meant_ to say that you guys have gotten your heads out of your own asses but,” she shrugged, “Whatever. I’m just glad to see that you two aren’t tearing each other apart anymore,”

 

Well, she was partly right.

 

Quentin exchanged a look with Eliot.

 

“Um, yeah,” Quentin said.

 

“We’re working on it,” Eliot nodded.

 

She smiled at them. “Good. I couldn’t stand to see my boys like that.”

 

Eliot hummed.

 

Quentin was _very_ aware of Eliot’s presence next to him.

 

“Well, I’m getting some of my shit to take to Kitty’s place,” Margo said, turning back towards the kitchen. “No offense to you assholes, but I’d rather fuck my _girlfriend_ in her apartment, alone, than have you two complaining about the noise,”

 

Quentin and Eliot, at the same time, made a humming noise of agreement.

 

“I guess it’s a good thing that you guys are getting along now,” Margo grabbed her favorite mug from the cabinets and a couple of her things out of the pantry. “Because Momma’s gonna be getting laid across town a lot more often,” Margo said over her shoulder as she went up the stairs.

 

The second Margo turned the corner, Eliot comically leaned over into Quentin’s space. “Are you thinking what I’m-“

 

“Don’t,” Quentin held up his hand.

 

Eliot playfully grinned. “I’m just saying-”

 

“Hush,” Quentin swatted at him.

 

“I mean, Margo’s the one that said we had our heads-“

 

“ _Eliot_ ,” Quentin’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Not while she’s-“

 

“ELIOT, WHERE'S MY GOOD HAND LOTION?” Margo’s voice called from up the stairs.

 

“UNDER THE BATHROOM COUNTER,” Eliot called up while rolling his eyes.

 

“THANK YOU!” Margo shouted back down the stairs.

 

“I mean,” Eliot turned back to Quentin, “If you’d rather just keep watching the movie-“

 

“El,” Quentin put a hand on Eliot’s thigh, and moved his head in Margo’s direction. “ _Patience_ ,”

 

Eliot grinned from ear to ear and wiggled.

 

Like, actually _wiggled._

 

As Margo came prancing back down the stairs, they returned to their own bubbles and kept their hands to themselves. “Alright, I’ll see you fuckers in class tomorrow,” Margo said while opening the front door. “Try not to destroy each other tonight!”

 

The door shut behind her.

 

There was a moment’s silence between them.

 

And then they both flung themselves off the couch with such force that it knocked the popcorn bowl off. They practically raced towards the stairs.

 

“Get the lube!”

 

“Jesus, I’m going, I’m going!”

 

“Yeah, not fast enough!”

 

“Oh, I’m gonna kick your ass, Waugh,”

 

“Come at me, Coldwater,”

 

They got halfway up the stairs when the door opened again.

 

“I FORGOT MY PHONE CHARGER!” Margo bellowed as she ran back in the house, not even noticing that her roommates were frozen on the staircase. She ran into the kitchen and then seconds later was running back out the door without so much as a glance at them.

 

The door shut behind her.

 

“That was a close call,”

 

“Oh, does that do it for you, Q?”

 

“Shut the fuck up and get your ass upstairs,”

 

“Ooh, Bossy Q. Daddy likey,”

 

“If you call yourself Daddy one more time, I’m not fucking you,”

 

The week went by a lot like that.

 

The fact that they were no longer in a constant state of fighting made working _Peter_ a lot more enjoyable, too. He no longer dreading going to the theatre, and was grateful that they could spend the last week of the show actually enjoying it instead of being angry the whole time.

 

Quentin pleasantly hummed to himself as he set out props and checked over the weapons (Todd had been fired from that job after the Eliot Incident) and vacuumed the backstage carpets. He even greeted his crew members with a smile, which caused Kady to raise an eyebrow at him.

 

“Have you been fucked recently?” She crossed her arms.

 

Quentin nearly dropped his mug. “What- why would you even, why would you ask that?”

 

Kady shrugged. “You had a stick up your ass and now you don’t,”

 

Quentin scoffed. “That doesn’t have _anything_ to do with....anything, Kady,”

 

She rolled her eyes and pushed past him to the mop closet, ending that conversation.

 

He was still blushing by the time he went to collect valuables for the day.

 

“Stage Management, coming in,” He announced to the non-Equity men’s dressing room as he walked in, looking down at his clipboard. “Just here to collect...” He looked up and then trailed off as a very shirtless Eliot came into his line of sight. “....valuables,”

 

Eliot’s eyes flicked up and down Quentin’s body, a teasing smile playing at his lips. “I don’t think you can fit in my valuable bag, Q,”

 

Quentin’s blush deepened and he rolled his eyes as he left the dressing room to continue his rounds. But he was secretly grateful that things were going back to normal.

 

The rest of the week went by pretty smoothly, with minimal arguments between the two of them. And anytime they did find themselves slipping into an argument over something stupid, they didn’t just dissolve into an endless battle that couldn’t be won, which was a nice change of pace. And sometimes, they could even resolve it without fucking afterwards.

 

Like Friday afternoon, when they were both at the Cottage, getting ready to drive over to the theatre before the show.

 

“Eliot, have you seen my car keys?” Quentin called up the stairs.

 

“No, I haven’t,” Eliot called back down, and Quentin groaned.

 

“Could you at least help me look, or are you going to spend the next twenty minutes doing your hair?” Quentin crossed his arms.

 

Eliot’s head poked out from his bedroom door with a scowl. “I’m not doing my hair, for the record, but even if I was, it would be necessary for the show,”

 

Quentin rolled his eyes. “Of _course_ it would be. Can you just hurry up?”

 

“I’m going as fast as I can, Quentin, Jesus,” Eliot disappeared back into his room and Quentin huffed. He began searching the downstairs for his keys, keeping an eye on the clock.

 

“Eliot, you’ve got five minutes before we need to leave!” Quentin shouted up the stairs as he searched under piles of shit on the kitchen table.

 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Eliot came thumping down the stairs. “No need to get so pissy,”

 

Quentin scowled. “I’m not getting _pissy_ , Eliot. I just can’t find my fucking keys in our fucking mess of a house because _someone_ doesn’t feel the need to clean up after himself,”

 

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Okay, you _had_ to have heard how pissy that was,”

 

“Maybe if you wouldn’t accuse me of being pissy so much, I wouldn’t get pissy!”

 

That seemed to stop Eliot in his tracks, and he sighed. “You’re right,”

 

“I, um, what?”

 

Eliot bit his lip. “You’re right and I’m..... sorry. I do kind of say that a lot, even when you’re not really being pissy. It’s kind of just a reflex at this point? But I’m gonna stop,”

 

“Oh,” Quentin blinked.

 

Eliot gestured to the mess that was their downstairs. “And, things _are_ kind of gross down here right now. I’ll try to do some clean up around here soon, promise,”

 

Quentin stared in shock at Eliot.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Eliot asked.

 

“You just...” Quentin mumbled. “That was just....unexpected,”

 

Eliot’s eyes flicked to the walls and the ceiling in the way that they did right before he said something vaguely emotional. “Well, I mean, we’re trying to be better to each other, right? Better friends? This is....this is me trying,”

 

Right.

 

Friends.

 

They were trying to be friends.

 

Which was great.

 

And Quentin was totally fine with it.

 

The “being friends” thing. He was fine with it. It had even been his idea. Because it wasn’t like he had feelings for Eliot. Well, he _had_ feelings for Eliot, before shit hit the fan. And then shit hit the fan and their life became one massive fight, and he had attempted to put those romantic type feelings on the back burner. And he totally succeeded at that. The “not having feelings” thing. Those romantic type feelings had been shoved out of a window, off a cliff, even. And they were friends now. Good friends. Friends who apologized when they fought and helped each other find their car keys under discarded sweaters when they were running late for call time.

 

And friends who sucked each other’s dicks.

 

In the friend kind of way.

 

 _Peter and the Starcatcher_ closed on Sunday evening.

 

Quentin wished he had been a little bit more sad about it, but knowing that they were starting Christmas Carol rehearsals the next day made him less inclined to be emotional. Most of the _Peter_ cast was going to be in Carol, and he was going to get to keep working with Margo and Kady, so he was more excited than anything.

 

Plus, the fact that they had an hour long strike after bows took away some of the fun.

 

Strike for shows, Quentin learned, was really just clearing out the basic stuff. Taking up spike tape, taking labels off of the mugs, returning the props to Brakebills South, cleaning out the dressing rooms, cleaning out the fridge, taking down any light fixtures or speakers that had been mounted on booms in the backstage, putting away the valuable bags, clearing off the call board, and so on and so on.

 

Quentin, as the lead ASM, mostly just walked around with his clipboard and delegated. Anytime a crew member finished a task, they came running back to him for the next thing. He’d go through the Strike plan and send people to help with wardrobe clean up or to the electrics team for moving the light board or he’d hand them a broom and just point in the direction of the stage.

 

Honestly, he was looking forward to Carol, where the more experienced Margo and Kady would be mostly take the lead. He certainly didn’t mind being in charge, but it was going to be nice when his main job was going to be refilling the coffee pot and taking line notes.

 

At the end of the striking hour, Quentin dismissed his crew members and went in search of Margo. He found her laying on the floor in the middle of the stage next to the ghost light.

 

“Hey,” He lightly kicked her foot. “Getting in some last minute floor time?”

 

Margo grinned up at him, and patted the floor next to her. Quentin matched her grin and settled down on the floor with a contented sigh.

 

“We did it. Opened and closed a whole ass show.” He elbowed her.

 

And Margo Hanson _giggled_. “We did it,” She echoed back.

 

“Well really, _you_ did it,” Quentin turned to face her. Margo was laying on her back and staring up into the grid with a dopey smile on her face. He’d only seen that look on her face when she was looking at Alice.

 

“I really did it,” She sighed. “I was so nervous for this show,” She confessed.

 

“What, you?” Quentin poked her. “You’re the best stage manager we’ve got,”

 

“Yeah, exactly,” Margo turned her head towards him. “Everyone has such high expectations for me. And they’ve _never_ let a student stage manage a mainstage show, so this was like, a big deal,” Her eyes found their way back up to the ceiling. “And I was afraid of fucking it up because of the fact that everyone expected me to do so well,”

 

“Well,” Quentin shrugged, or at least, shrugged as best as he could for laying on his side, “You didn’t fuck it up. And everyone’s super proud of you,”

 

Margo smiled, a soft, gentle smile that she only reserved for special occasions. “Thanks, Q,”

 

They didn’t hug or anything, but Margo did affectionately punch his arm.

 

Quentin also learned that despite the rich party culture of the Brakebills University Theatre Department, closing nights weren’t for partying. There were no house parties or groups headed down to the bar or anything like that. Everyone just said their goodbyes and went home.

 

Which, considering it was Sunday and they had classes and the start of Carol the next day, it wasn’t too surprising. And honestly, Quentin was just grateful for the chance to just go home.

 

Eliot had gone home right after the show, not needing to stick around for strike as he wasn’t tech, and Margo went over to Alice’s place, so Quentin drove back to the Cottage by himself. He enjoyed the quiet of the night and the hum of his car and the peaceful feeling in his chest.

 

It was the sign that things were looking up.

 

Quentin had been dealing with his brain long enough to recognize the rises and falls of his mental health and take them for what they were without any judgement. And in this moment, with the feeling of accomplishment that came with closing a show and the warm fuzzy feeling he had in his chest from the affection of his friends, things felt okay.

 

When Quentin opened up the Cottage door, he shouted “El, I’m home!” up the staircase.

 

“Down here, actually,” Eliot’s voice called from the living room.

 

With his bag still slung over his shoulder, Quentin made his way into the living room, and his jaw dropped. When he’d left that morning, the downstairs had been a bit of a wreck. But somehow, in the hour that Quentin had been striking at the theatre, Eliot had been cleaning at the house.

 

He could actually see the countertops and floor now, for the first time in weeks. Things were stacked up neatly and not just slung haphazardly around their shared space. The sink wasn’t full of dirty dishes and the blankets on the couch had been neatly folded.

 

It was by no means perfect, but it was a start.

 

And Eliot stood in the middle of the room with a sheepish smile on his face.

 

“Happy Closing, Q,” He said, playing with the ring on his finger.

 

“Eliot, this is...” Quentin said, walking into the living room and eyeing the clean space. “This is awesome,” It was the only word he could actually think of at the moment. “You didn’t have to spend your closing night doing this, but...” He smiled warmly at him. “Thank you,”

 

“That’s not all,” Eliot pointed excitedly. “Come look what I found under a pile of junk,”

 

After putting his keys, coat, bag and shoes in their (now) designated spots, Quentin followed Eliot to the front room by the staircase.

 

“Holy shit,” He said. “Have we always had this piano?” On the side of the stairs away from the front door sat a small and neat piano that Quentin was positive he’d never seen before.

 

“Margo and I have been using it as a bookshelf in the front room,” Eliot gestured vaguely in the other direction. “But when I was cleaning up tonight I rediscovered it. Thought I’d pull it out and put it to good use again,”

 

Quentin ignored the urge to make a dirty joke.

 

“You play the piano?” He asked, leaning against the stair railing.

 

“All my life,” Eliot nodded. He then hesitated, and rubbed his hands together, “Want me to play something? A closing night treat?”

 

Quentin smiled. “Sure, why not?”

 

Eliot grinned, clearly pleased at the chance to show off, and sat on the piano bench. “What’ll it be?” He asked, running his fingers over the keys.

 

Quentin wracked his brain and stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t know, uh, how about something from Spring Awakening?”

 

Eliot rolled his eyes. “You always want to hear something from Spring Awakening,”

 

He crossed his arms and shrugged. “It’s my favorite musical,”

 

The corners of Eliot’s mouth turned up into a soft smile, one that made Quentin’s heart beat faster. “Well, alright,” Eliot teased. “If you insist, I do know a song from that musical,”

 

Quentin, still leaning on the staircase, watched Eliot’s expert hands gently dance across the ivory keys. And even more than his hands, Quentin watched Eliot’s look of gentle concentration as he began the song. Eliot did this thing, when he was focused, where his forehead crinkled and his lips pursed ever so slightly.

 

It made Quentin a little woozy.

 

And of course, Quentin instantly recognized the song.

 

_“Something started crazy,_

_Sweet and unknown,”_

 

Eliot had a voice like honey, and Quentin had forgotten how much he liked it.

 

_“Something you keep on a box in the street,_

_Now longing for a home,”_

 

Quentin tried to not read too much about their current.... _arrangement_ into the song choice but-

 

_“And who can say what dreams are?_

_Wake me in time to be lonely and sad._

_And who can say what we are?”_

 

-that was pretty much impossible.

 

_“This is the season for dreaming,”_

 

In fact, watching Eliot pluck at the piano keys definitely plucked at Quentin’s heart strings, and all of the romantic and very un-friend like feelings he was supposed to be hiding away came rising to the surface, and his chest ached.

 

_“But now my body is_

_The guilty one.”_

 

And his pants suddenly felt tighter.

 

_“My touch_

_Colored the hours._

_Night won’t breathe,”_

 

Quentin suddenly felt like he was too far away from Eliot.

 

_“Oh, how I_

_Fall in silence from the sky”_

 

Without even really thinking about it, and a weird sense of bravery coursing through his system, Quentin quietly moved from his spot against the stairs and straddled the other half of the piano bench that Eliot wasn’t occupying, sitting so close to Eliot that he was practically on top of him.

 

_“And whisper some golden reply.”_

 

Eliot peered at Quentin from the corner of his eye, and gave him a small smile, but he kept his focus on the piano keys.

 

And Quentin kept his focus on Eliot.

 

Always on Eliot.

 

“ _Pulse is gone and racing_

_All fits and starts,”_

 

Quentin’s heart was pounding, and he bit his lip. He had an urge, an idea, and he wasn’t entirely sure how well it was going to be received, within their current arrangement, but...

 

_“Window by window you try and look into_

_this brave new that you are,”_

 

Fuck it. He was feeling bold.

 

_“And who can say what dreams are?”_

 

Quentin brushed his fingertips over Eliot’s knee.

 

_“Wake me in time to be out in the cold,”_

 

And he gently pulled himself so that he was flush with Eliot’s body.

 

_“And who can say what we are?”_

 

Quentin began pressing kisses into the fabric of Eliot’s shoulder, and Eliot raised his eyebrows.

 

But his expression was playful. Wanting. Eager. Ready.

 

_“This is the reason for dreaming,”_

 

Quentin moved his kisses up from the shoulder to the base of Eliot’s neck.

 

_“And now, our bodies are the guilty ones,”_

 

Quentin moved his hand up from the knee to Eliot’s upper thigh.

 

_“Our touch will fill every day,”_

 

Eliot’s eyelids fluttered as Quentin’s hand stroked his inner thigh.

 

_“Huge and dark,”_

 

Quentin kissed up the side of Eliot’s neck.

 

_“Oh, our hearts,”_

 

Quentin nipped at Eliot’s jawline, and he could tell the other man was fighting back a moan.

 

_“Will murmur the blues from on high,”_

 

Honestly, Quentin was impressed that Eliot had made it this far in the song without breaking, but he decided that he’d heard enough of the music.

 

_“And whisper some silver reply,”_

 

Quentin dragged his hand along Eliot’s body until it was stroking Eliot’s dick through his pants.

 

That apparently did it, because Eliot completely gave up on his piano work. He turned his body towards Quentin and reached up with one of his hands to wrap it around the back of Quentin’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

 

_(and now our bodies are the guilty ones.)_

 

It was a deep and slow kiss, and Quentin sank into it.

 

_(your touch)_

 

Eliot’s lips moved to his neck, and Quentin moaned.

 

_(will color the hours)_

 

Quentin tugged at Eliot’s belt buckle, but Eliot’s hand stopped him.

 

_(night won’t breathe)_

 

Quentin’s eyes followed him as Eliot stood up from the bench and held out his hand.

 

_(oh how we)_

 

Gently, Quentin took his hand.

 

_(fall in silence from the sky)_

 

Eliot tugged Quentin up the stairs, eyes hungry.

 

_(and whisper some silver reply)_

 

Eliot pulled them into his dark bedroom.

 

_(and now our bodies are)_

 

Quentin shut the door behind him.

 

_(the guilty ones)_


	14. Christmas Carol Rehearsals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen i have a lot of feelings about A Christmas Carol

Christmas Carol rehearsals hit Quentin like a ton of bricks.

 

He thought Peter had been bad, but this was an entirely new level of insanity.

 

There were 20 adult cast members, 10 child actors, a million props, a dozen scene changes, and a thousand rehearsal costume pieces for everyone. He thought that, with having three ASMs, he’d be able to sit back and take it easy.

 

But that was a fucking lie.

 

There were, in fact, three ASMs because they  _ needed _ three ASMs. 

 

Margo took down all of the actor entrances and exits, made the costume quick change sheet, and maintained the rehearsal costume pieces. Kady tracked all of the props and furniture pieces, and got started on the run sheet. Quentin took line notes, was on book, and would be a part time child wrangler until they got to the stage in a few weeks and brought in the actual child wranglers. And all three of them were needed to work on the various complicated pieces of paperwork needed to maintain the show. And a lot of the time, the three of them would just trade off duties and help each other out.

 

When Margo slipped out to go call a late actor, Kady would have to take over doing both of their jobs. When Quentin had to go receive a child actor from the parents in the lobby, one of the others would have to slide over and be on book. When Kady ate bad sushi and had to go home early, Margo and Quentin easily stepped in to cover for her. And all three of them were needed to put out all of the props and furniture pieces at the beginning of rehearsal and put them all away again at the end of rehearsal. 

 

And Quentin had to admit, watching The Dream Team work together was pretty incredible.

 

Margo and Kady were both  _ very _ good assistant stage managers. They were good at being in charge and organized and getting shit done. They both had different styles when it came to dealing with people on a personal level (Margo tended to be the nicer one of the two, surprisingly) but the two made a good team and knew how to work together. Quentin was by no means the Todd of the group, but he did like to say that they were like his two moms, guiding him and helping him and kicking his ass when he needed it.

 

And when you were working Christmas Carol, you needed it a lot.

 

Quentin learned that every year, the Chatwin Theatre put on a production of  _ A Christmas Carol.  _ And every five years, they selected a new version of the script and revamped the designs and made it a whole new production, which made it fun for the community to get a new experience every few years. This year was a revamp year, and it was both a blessing and a curse.  

 

A blessing because most of the actors in the show had done a Carol before, and Brakebills South had most of the props needed for the production. A curse because a lot of people had the memories and motions of their previous productions stuck in their heads, and the scenic shop had to build a new set from the ground up, and costume shop was having to make slightly different versions of all the costumes they already had. Everyone in the entire fucking department was working overtime and in overdrive trying to get the production put together.

 

And Quentin was stressed.

 

Well, like an average amount of stress for him, really.

 

It was just stress about the show and about the upcoming midterms.

 

But he had a very good stress reliever.

 

Well, even more than that, he had one of his best friends back.

 

But that best friend was a very good stress reliever.

 

And a semi-good listener, apparently.

 

“Our stage manager is just the most average old, straight, white guy I’ve ever met in my entire life,” Quentin bitched, “He like,  _ refuses  _ to use a computer and he’s putting way too much pressure on Margo and he treats Kady like she’s incompetent, even though this is like her fifth time being an assistant stage manager on a mainstage show. And then he tries to be all buddy buddy with me about it? And he just gets on my last damn nerve,”

 

The pair walked from the rehearsal hall across campus in the darkness, the cool autumn air settling in around them. After rehearsal had ended, Margo told them to go ahead on home without her, as she was planning on going to the library to finish up a paper for her Philosophy of Feminism class and then she was going over to Alice’s place.

 

Which meant that Quentin had Eliot all to himself.

 

Which honestly, made him just a little bit horny.

 

What made him a lotta bit horny was the way Eliot was listening to Quentin bitch very intensely, nodding at all the right places and commenting in agreement when it was necessary. Something about having all of Eliot’s attention made him feel warm against the cold air.

 

And also, Quentin couldn’t deny that the way Eliot looked in the glow of the street lights as they walked across campus made him want to jump his bones then and there.

 

“And the man doesn’t even know how to work the coffee pot!” Quentin threw up his hands.

 

Eliot scoffed. “What kind of stage manager doesn’t know how to make coffee?”

 

“Fucking thank you!” Quentin said, pushing open the door to the garage. 

 

Quentin had parked at the big commuter parking garage, and the pair made their way down, down, down the stairs to the very bottom of the garage, where Quentin’s car sat alone in the back corner.

 

Hmm.

 

Quentin had an idea.

 

“But I mean, are you having fun at least?” Eliot asked as they approached his car.

 

“Yeah, it’s fun working with Margo and Kady, and I’m enjoying the show itself. The stage manager is just stressing me out,” He answered, scanning the rest of the parking garage for any other signs of life and hoping that his voice hadn’t just betrayed the way his heart had just started beating faster in his chest.

 

So far, he and Eliot had only fucked at the Cottage, and only when Margo wasn’t home. 

 

Well. 

 

The garage was for sure empty.

 

“That really sucks, Q,” Eliot said as they threw their backpacks into Quentin’s trunk.

 

Quentin shut his trunk door, and turned towards the passenger side of the vehicle.

 

“Uh, do you want me to drive, Q?” He heard Eliot asked in confusion.

 

Quentin didn’t answer, but instead, looked at Eliot over his shoulder and opened up the backseat door.

 

Eliot quirked an eyebrow.

 

Quentin rolled his eyes.

 

And he unzipped his jeans.

 

What Quentin liked the most about Eliot was that when he wasn’t acting on stage or putting up an emotional front, he had the  _ best _ face journeys. 

 

Quentin could physically see the moment when Eliot went from mild confusion, to realizing what Quentin was wanting, to an expression that was almost  _ delighted _ and  _ hungry. _

 

Quentin grinned and practically dove into the backseat, with Eliot scrambling in after him and shutting the car door behind him.

 

Eliot was on top of him in seconds, kissing him senseless against the other car door. Quentin hooked his legs around Eliot’s waist and wrapped his arms around his neck while Eliot used one hand to brace himself and the other to wrap around Quentin. They made out like horny teenagers, with Eliot grinding against Quentin and Quentin with his tongue in Eliot’s mouth. 

 

And the only further encouragement Eliot needed was Quentin lightly pushing on his shoulders. Message received and with one last bite of Quentin’s lip, Eliot went down, down, down.

 

Eliot was an amazing source of stress relief. 

 

On Thursday night, Quentin could tell that Eliot was tired. Margo seemed to be picking up on it as well, throughout the whole rehearsal, and the two of them kept exchanging worried glances.

 

Well, Quentin at least knew it wasn’t his fault. Margo had been home last night so as far as he was aware, Eliot had gotten a solid night of sleep. And yet, somehow he still looked exhausted.

 

And, of fucking course, this was the first day they were really running though the heartwenching and already emotionally draining act one finale: the Breakup Scene. 

 

The Breakup Scene was arguably Quentin’s favorite scene in the whole play, and maybe in theatre in general. The Belle / Young Ebenezer story of how they fell in love and then fell apart, with Older Scrooge reliving his worst memory always made him emotional, for no other reason than the fact that it was just good writing. Since the first time he saw Carol in high school, their breakup scene had pulled a visceral reaction out of him. And Quentin didn’t think he was being too biased when he said that their current production, under the guidance of their director, was shaping up to be the best Breakup Scene he’d ever seen on stage.

 

“I hate it when people play this scene with a stiff upper lip,” Their director had said, “I hate it when people play this break up while trying to hold back their emotions. This is the moment that changes Scrooge’s life. It’s gotta be a knock down, drag out,  _ fight.  _ A fight for his life,”

 

So for the scene, Eliot (Young Ebenezer) and an upperclassman named Victoria (Belle) were instructed to throw all their preconceived notions about stiff acting within the Victorian period out the window. The director told them that for this specific scene, they were to fight like they were in modern times, and just to fucking  _ lay into each other.  _

 

And today, when Eliot was seemingly drained and tired and Quentin kept shooting him worried looks, the director was having them do the scene over and over, giving notes each time before they did it again. Which was standard for this point in the process, honestly. They’d spent all of yesterday doing the Cratchit family dinner scene, so it’s not like this was out of the ordinary. 

 

Except...

 

Eliot and Victoria were digging deep for the scene, laying into each other, and fighting for their metaphorical lives, and Quentin could see the toll it was taking on them.

 

Especially on Eliot.

 

Especially when they’d been doing it for a solid hour.

 

Kady had volunteered to be on book for a bit, and there weren’t really any props to track, which meant that Quentin was able to just sit back and watch the scene unfold.

 

And watch Eliot.

 

“Whenever you’re ready,” the stage manager said, and they launched into it again.

 

Victoria stormed on first, from stage left, with Eliot chasing after her.

 

“Belle, Jacob and I run a business, not a charity,” Eliot called out, exasperated, clear in his acting that this scene was picking up in the middle of the fight.

 

Victoria swiveled around to him. “But why must they vacate on Christmas Eve? An unfortunate family with nowhere to go?”

 

Eliot pressed his hands together. “If one cannot meet one’s financial obligations, then one must accept the consequences. After all, who is the injured party?” He gestured to himself. “I am. Whenever I borrow, I pay on the nail.”

 

“And so you collect on the nail as well,” Victoria snapped at him, turning away.

 

“Yes! And I’m proud to say so!” Eliot sighed, and ran a hand over his face. “Belle, when we’re married, will we not have substantial expenses? I want to provide us with a certain quality of life.” He stepped towards her, with his hands on his chest, voice strained. “I want us to be  _ happy _ ,” He moved past her, crossing stage right. “Now, Jacob is waiting for us at the Fox and Hound-”

 

“Ebenezer,” Victoria cut him off. “When we are married, will the quality of our life be measured by our expenses?”

 

Eliot growled. “Belle. Not  _ again _ ,”

 

Victoria crossed her arms. “Are those the scales on which our happiness will be weighed?”

 

“You’re speaking nonsense, and it’s unfair!” Eliot cried, his acting clearly reading as frustrated, annoyed, and embarrassed. “There’s nothing the world is so hard on as poverty, and yet there’s nothing the world so roundly condemns as the honest pursuit of wealth,”

 

Victoria shook her head, and looked him up and down with watery eyes. “You fear the world too much, Ebenezer,”

 

“ _ What _ ?” Eliot said.

 

“Is it the honest pursuit of wealth, or just another way to keep the world at arms length?”

 

Quentin’s chest suddenly ached at the expression on Eliot’s face. 

 

He knew that they were just acting.

 

But it was still hard for him to see Eliot like this.

 

Like he was about to fall apart.

 

“Belle,  _ please _ ,” Eliot stepped towards her, “If I’ve grown wiser in the ways of the world, what then? I am not changed towards you!” His voice raised in volume, raised in pain.

 

And Victoria matched it. “But you are. You are! An idol has displaced me!”

 

Eliot threw his hands up. “What idol?”

 

“A  _ golden  _ one!” Victoria cried.

 

Eliot turned away, crossing down stage left, chest heaving.

 

“Ebenezer, forgive me,” Victoria drew in a shaky breath and composed herself. “I have been slow to speak my heart. Not because my love for you blinded me, but because I trusted too deeply in that love,” She said the lines slowly, clear in her acting that Belle was choosing every word carefully.

 

Eliot’s face twisted, and crumbled, trying not to cry. “Jacob is waiting!”

 

Quentin wasn’t sure how much of it was acting.

 

He and Margo exchanged a look.

 

“And so, I kept my silence these past two years while I’ve watched your nobler aspirations fall from you one by one, till your every conversation--your every  _ thought _ I fear,” Victoria said, wiping tears off her cheeks, and her face turned sour. “--is of  _ assets. _ Advantages, profits, and wealth.” She stepped closer to him, just barely upstage right of him. “Ebenezer, is that the man you now aspire to be?”

 

Eliot snapped towards her, his back to the audience. “What is that you mean to say?”

 

Their Scrooge, who Quetin had entirely forgotten was onstage because he’d been so focused on Eliot, crossed upstage of the pair, around the bench and lamp post on the set, and mirrored Eliot’s position on the other side of Victoria. “You  _ know _ what she means to say,” The old man cried.

 

Victoria looked down at the prop shilling ring on her finger, and drew in another shaky breath. “Our contract is an old one,” She said, holding back tears, “When it was made, you were another man,”

 

Eliot and their Scrooge rotated at the same time so that they were on the same level as Victoria, on opposite sides of her, and cried at the same time: “I was a  _ boy _ !”

 

“You are not now what you were then! I am!” Victoria gestured between them. “I have not changed! But if....this  _ new _ life is what you truly desire,” Victoria shook her head. “If it will cheer and comfort you in the time to come, as I would have tried to do,” A sob escaped her. “Then I have  _ no _ just cause to grieve,”

 

“Spirit, I cannot bear this, I cannot!” Scrooge ran to their Ghost of Christmas Past.

 

But Quentin’s eyes were only on Eliot.

 

Chest heaving and watery eyed Eliot.

 

Broken looking Eliot

 

His eyes were  _ always  _ on Eliot.

 

“How often, how keenly, how painfully I have thought upon this...” Victoria tried to compose herself again, wiping her nose with her sleeve and shaking her head. “I will not say. But I have thought upon it,” She raised her chin and looked Eliot dead in the eyes. “And feel it best to release you,”

 

Eliot’s face absolutely  _ crumpled _ . “Have I  _ ever _ sought release?” His voice raised and cracked.

 

“In words, no, never,”

 

“In  _ what _ , then?!” Eliot shouted, and Quentin realized that there were _ actual tears _ streaming down his face.

 

He’d never seen Eliot cry before.

 

“In a changed nature!” Victoria shouted back. “In an altered spirit, in  _ everything  _ that made my love of  _ any _ worth or value in your sight!”

 

Scrooge dashed upstage of the pair, frantically looking back and forth between them. “Belle, please, all he needs is more time-”

 

“Look at me, Ebenezer,” Victoria held out her arms. “And answer from your heart,” She dropped her arms and stepped in closer to Eliot. “If you were free today, as you were two years ago, would you still try to win me? A girl with no inheritance, no social standing, and no desire to sell happiness for success?” 

 

She tried to reach for his hand, but he stepped back, clenched his jaw and delivered the line: “If you wish to break our contract. If you seek a release from our agreement,” He drew in a shaky breath. “I grant it,”

 

“Coward!” Scrooge cried, “It’s  _ you _ who seeks release, not she! Can’t you tell her the truth?”

 

Victoria had started crying again, even though she was very clearly trying to hold it together.

 

Quentin didn’t know if she was doing it as Victoria or as Belle or as weird combo.

 

“I shall always remember with a full heart the  _ love _ I carried for the man you once were.” Victoria’s voice cracked, “You may have pain from this. But I know if it will last a very brief time and you will dismiss the recollection of it gladly, as an unprofitable dream from which it happened well that you awoke,”

 

Victoria, with shaking hands, took the shilling ring off of her finger, and held it out to Eliot.

 

“Wait!” Scrooge cried to deaf ears, “Belle, I was so young!”

 

Eliot, with shaking hands, took the shilling ring from her.

 

“So, it’s done,” Victoria looked up at him. “May you be happy in this life you have chosen!” Victoria said the last half of the line partially over her shoulder as she ran off into the wings of their rehearsal room and collapsed on one of the chairs, sobbing. 

 

Beside him, Kady got up, grabbed the box of tissues on the stage management table, and quietly and swiftly made her way over to Victoria.

 

But Quentin was still watching Eliot.

 

Always, Eliot.

 

Eliot, who was standing center stage, staring at the shilling ring, damn near hyper-ventilating, trying to compose himself as sobs rose to the surface. 

 

“Stop her, you fool! You’ll never see her again! She still loves you!” Scrooge circled around him, practically shouting in Eliot’s ear. “Do you want to be alone? Is that what you want? Is that what you want?!” 

 

An angry expression spread across Eliot’s face as stared at the shilling ring, and he swallowed down another sob. He raised his head and clenched his jaw as he stared into the audience. 

 

“Hambug!” Eliot snarled with such ferocity and  _ hurt _ that Quentin’s chest tightened.

 

And then Eliot ran off in the opposite direction Victoria had gone off, looking absolutely  _ destroyed _ and leaving their Scrooge and Ghost of Christmas Past center stage for the finale moment of the act.

 

“Hold please,” Their stage manager called. “Let’s take five, folks,”

 

Eliot was out the door in seconds, hand up covering his mouth, trying to contain the sobs that were echoing throughout the rehearsal hall.

 

Quentin practically scrambled out of his seat and followed him out the door. Margo might have called out his name, but he wasn’t listening. 

 

He  _ had _ to get to Eliot.

 

Quentin found him at the end of the hallway, and he looked like he was having a panic attack. He was hyperventilating and crying and his hands were shaking and he had a wild look in his eyes, like he wasn’t sure where he was or what was going on.

 

“Eliot,” Quentin rushed towards him.

 

Eliot flicked his eyes up to him, startled, and took a couple steps away, backing himself into the corner.

 

Quentin’s chest tightened even more.

 

He’d seen Eliot when he was sad and when he was happy and when he was angry and when he was excited and when he was orgasming.

 

But he’d never seen him like this.

 

“Eliot, hey, it’s just me,” Quentin held his hands out.

 

Eliot shook his head. “Go away,” He said, voice shaking and raw. “I need to be alone,”

 

Quentin’s heart sank. “El-”

 

“Go  _ away _ , Quentin,” Eliot squeezed his eyes shut. “I need to be  _ alone _ ,” 

 

“Okay, El, I’m going,” Quentin said with a soft voice. 

 

Eliot slid down against the wall and pulled his knees tight to his chest, tucking his head down and looking away from Quentin. And Quentin wanted nothing more than to pull Eliot tight to his chest and hold him until the pain went away. But that was how he dealt with his panic attacks, not how Eliot did, clearly. So he backed away and went back into the rehearsal hall. 

 

Margo was waiting at their table with Eliot’s backpack neatly zipped up and waiting. “How is he?” She asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the table.

 

Quentin shook his head. “Bad. I think he’s having a panic attack? He didn’t want me there,”

 

Margo nodded, and bit her lip. “He doesn’t get like this very often, but when he does, he’s a need-to-be-alone type person. He gets overwhelmed,”

 

Quentin bit back a scathing “ _ Yeah, figured that out the hard way _ ,” and instead asked: “What’s with his bag?” He pointed.

 

Margo slung Eliot’s bag over her shoulder. “Director’s calling it for the night. They’ve clearly hit their limit. Kady’s going to take Victoria home right now,”

 

“Are you gonna take Eliot home?” Quentin shuffled his feet.

 

“Yeah,” Margo sighed. “Sorry, Q. You got the short end of the stick and have to pack everything up yourself,” She gestured to the various furniture pieces and their mini prop table. “I’m gonna stay at the Cottage tonight, too.” She said. “El should be fine in a little bit, but I just wanna keep an eye on him,”

 

Quentin nodded. “I get that,” He bit his lip. “I hope I didn’t make things worse for him,”

 

Margo shook her head, squeezed his arm, and gave him one of her Soft Margo Looks. “No, I don’t think you did, Q. El knows that you care about him, and I’m sure he appreciates it,”

 

Quentin tried very hard to not let the sad puppy dog eyes he was known for overtake his face. 

 

_ “El knows that you care about him _ .”

 

Margo, you have _no_ idea.

 

“Okay,” Quentin nodded. “Yeah, okay. I’ll meet you guys back home,”

 

Margo squeezed his arm one more time before heading out the door in search of Eliot.

 

Leaving Quentin alone at the stage management table with a sinking feeling in his chest.

 

It really didn’t take that long for him to pack up everything and shut down the hospitality station. It had been an easy night for them, and he was out the door and to his car before 11.

 

When he got to the Cottage, Margo was curled up on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate and watching  _ Nailed It _ on Netflix. She waved to him as he came in.

 

“How is he?” Quentin asked, putting his keys in their designated spot.

 

“Better. A little embarrassed, but, better. Drinking his favorite tea in his room and everything,”

 

“Good,” Quentin nodded. “I’m gonna hit the hay, but do you need anything from me?”

 

Margo shook her head. “I’m good. Night, Q,” She blew him a kiss and then snuggled back down under her blanket.

 

Quentin trudged up the stairs, and was pleasantly surprised to hear Eliot’s favorite music, classic 1940s ballads, coming from the other man’s room. It eased his heart a little bit to hear it, knowing that Eliot would find comfort in the music. 

 

Quentin wanted nothing more than to burst into Eliot’s room and check on him.

 

But he slipped into his own room instead.

 

Well.

 

He didn’t want Eliot to think that he didn’t care.

 

He needed to do  _ something _ to reach out to him.

 

He pulled out his phone.

 

_ I’m home. Hope you’re feeling better. Here if you need me. -Q _

 

He sent the message to Eliot, wishing he could do something more than just sending him a stupid little text, but it was better than nothing.

 

He made his bed and finished his reading for theatre history and went through his night time routine, trying not to eye Eliot’s room too often. 

 

After he brushed his teeth, Quentin stripped down to his boxers and turned on the lamp on his night stand. He turned out the overhead lights and crawled under the covers, grabbing his favorite biography of the Chatwin siblings for a little night reading.

 

And then he heard a soft knocking at his door.

 

“Come in!” He called, dropping his book on the dresser and sitting back against the headboard.

 

And to his surprise, Eliot gently opened his door.

 

He did look a lot better since the last time Quentin saw him. He was in his silk pajamas bottoms and his eyes were no longer bloodshot, but he still had an embarrassed look on his face. 

 

“I got your text,” Eliot’s voice was soft.

 

“El, hey,” Quentin said, giving him a small smile. 

 

“I, um,” Eliot looked at the floor. “I wanted to apologize. For earlier,”

 

Quentin’s brow furrowed. “You have nothing to apologize for, El,”

 

Eliot swallowed, and looked around Quentin’s room. “I feel bad,”

 

“Why?”

 

“Cause....well.....I don’t know....” Eliot muttered.

 

“El, you were having a panic attack,” Quentin sighed, and bit his lip, “I’m sorry that I got in your space. I didn’t mean to make it worse,”

 

Eliot shook his head. “No, you didn’t. I promise,” 

 

“Okay,” Quentin smiled. “But I’m serious, you have nothing to apologize for,”

 

Eliot nodded, and leaned against the door frame. “I just, um, I have a hard time with.....feelings,”

 

“I know, El,” slipped out of Quentin’s mouth before he could stop himself.

 

Eliot looked down and off to the side. 

 

_ Shit. _

 

“Do you...” Quentin tried to back pedal. “Do you wanna talk about what happened?”

 

Eliot immediately shook his head. “No, not really,” He then hesitated, and looked back at Quentin, eyes  _ entirely _ too tender, and asked: “Is that okay?”

 

Quentin wanted to melt. “Of course, it’s okay, El. We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. We don’t ever have to bring it up again, if you don’t want to,”

 

Eliot looked relieved, and gave him a gracious and small smile.

 

A small silence passed between them.

 

Eliot cleared his throat. “Do you wanna....” He softly banged his knuckles against the door.

 

Oh.

 

The unspoken end of the question hung in the air, but Quentin knew what he meant.

 

And Eliot was giving him a look that was almost too much for him to handle.

 

He had to look away. “Margo’s at home, so maybe we shouldn’t,”

 

“Right,” Eliot nodded. “You’re right,”

 

Quentin had honestly expected him to leave when the offer of sex was no longer on the table.

 

That was their agreement, after all.

 

The sex. 

 

The sex without feelings.

 

Just as friends.

 

But Eliot stayed, leaning against the door frame.

 

His eyes were doing that Eliot Thing, The Flitting Around The Room Thing that he did when he was mustering up the courage to say what he was thinking or feeling. 

 

Quentin just waited patiently.

 

Eliot inhaled. 

 

And then he exhaled. 

 

And then:

 

“But, can I just stay with you, anyway?” 

 

Quentin thought his heart was going to burst.

 

“Yeah, El. You can stay,” He said, pulling back the covers.

 

Eliot exhaled and smiled gently.

 

He shut and locked the door behind him and crossed to the bed. 

 

Quentin reached over and turned off his lamp. 

 

There was a moment, when Eliot reached the edge of the bed, where they both seemed unsure.

 

Unsure of where this fell into their agreement.

 

Did this mess with how good things were between them?

 

Was this a sleep apart situation, trying not to touch each other all night?

 

Would everything change in the morning light?

 

Could Quentin hold Eliot the way he’d been longing to all night?

 

Only one way to find out.

 

Quentin held out his hand.

 

And gently, Eliot took it.

 

And Quentin tugged him into bed.

 

They didn’t need to speak as they settled into each other. 

 

Quentin on his back, Eliot on Quentin’s chest. 

 

Eliot used Quentin’s shoulder as a pillow, Quentin inhaled the scent of Eliot. 

 

Eliot’s arm wrapped around Quentin’s torso, Quentin’s arm wrapping around Eliot’s back. 

 

Quentin rubbed his thumb against Eliot’s skin, Eliot nuzzled into Quentin’s neck.

 

Their legs entwined. 

 

Their breathing fell in sync.

 

It didn’t take long for Eliot to fall asleep.

 

Quentin was still awake however, looking down on the sleeping Eliot.

 

He tried not to think about it too much.

 

Not thinking about what the morning would bring.

 

Not to think about how right it felt to be sharing a bed with Eliot.

 

(And not just fucking, but something deeper.)

 

He tried not to think about their bare chests pressed to each other, skin to skin.

 

He tried not to think about how right it felt to be falling asleep with Eliot.

 

He tried not to think about how Eliot came to  _ him _ .

 

He tried not to think about

 

How they were entwined with each other

 

How right they felt together

 

How they fit together

 

How they clicked together

 

Like they were tile pieces in a mosaic.

 

Quentin pressed a kiss to Eliot’s head.

 

And fell asleep holding him tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~tRiViA~  
> -I ASMed Carol in 2016 and can confirm it's like getting hit with a ton of bricks.  
> -Everything that happened in this chapter with the Carol rehearsal and the Breakup Scene is 100% based on the true story of when I did Carol. Those are direct quotations from my director about the Breakup Scene, that was their blocking for the scene, and that is actually what happened to the two actors in terms of them accidentally getting pushed too hard, and us having to end rehearsal early because they were both sobbing wrecks.   
> -The text is from the version adapted by Joseph Hanreddy & Edward Morgan, if I've got any fellow Carol fanatics in the audience.
> 
> -"I'll Get By" by the King Sisters and "It's Been A Long, Long Time" by Kitty Kallen are the 1940s ballads I listened to while writing this  
> -this chapter turned out way more tender than i originally planned lmao


	15. The Margo Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt your regularly scheduled slow burn for a brief perspective from Margo.

Margo Hanson was the brightest bitch of her age.

 

She had a 4.0 GPA, was double majoring in Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies and Theatre with a focus in Stage Management. She was the best stage management student to go through the Chatwin Theatre in the history of ever and the only woman stage manager in the last ten years who was allowed to take the lead of a Main Stage show. She’d already done two summer internships in Chicago and Washington D.C. and worked at the Utah Shakespeare Theatre Festival this past summer. She read and wrote feminist essays in her spare time and was apart of the College Democrats club on campus. She also had the best sense of style in the entire department, and the hottest girlfriend in the whole university. 

 

So if Quentin and Eliot thought they were fooling her, they were bigger idiots that she thought.

 

Right, like she hadn’t picked up on the clusterfuck happening between them.

 

As if she hadn’t seen the unholy amount of tender flirting and gazes between them in the first chunk of the school year.

 

As if she hadn’t seen them staring at each other with bedroom eyes the entire fucking night of the Dionysus Party.

 

As if she hadn’t noticed how they went from joined at the hip to fighting like  _ children _ and not being able to even  _ look _ at each other without lashing out.

 

As if she hadn’t coaxed Eliot into confessing that he had a crush and then saw his dumbass staring longingly at Quentin all opening night.

 

As if she hadn’t seen Quentin shove Penny off of him and then  _ immediately _ shoot a worried glance at Eliot from across the bar.

 

_ As if _ she hadn’t seen the  _ look _ on Quentin’s face when Eliot sliced his arm.

 

_ As if _ she hadn’t read Eliot like a damn book when she tried to ask him about it.

 

_ As if _ she hadn’t seen them both come back inside the night of the Kitty Cat Party, with Quentin still wiping his mouth and Eliot with jello legs.

 

_ As if _ she hadn’t put two and two together when she walked in on them practically cuddling on the fucking couching watching Newsies-- _ the gayest fucking theatre movie of all time _ \--a day later.

 

_ As if _ she hadn’t carefully chosen the right words that morning, just to get a reaction out of them.

 

_ As if _ she hadn’t heard them leap off the couch and run towards the stairs from the other side of the front door.

 

_ As if  _ she hadn’t purposefully left her phone charger on the kitchen counter, just so she could walk back in on them.

 

_ As if _ she hadn’t pretended like she didn’t notice the boys frozen on the stairs with their belts already undone.

 

_ As if _ she didn’t notice the sexual tension between them over the last few weeks.

 

_ As if _ she hadn’t seen the way the Breakup Scene hit Eliot and the way that Quentin ran towards Eliot like his life depended on it.

 

And as  _ fucking  _ if she didn’t hear every damn word of their conversation last night!

 

She had just been quietly slipping up the fucking stairs to check on Eliot!

 

And saw Eliot’s fucking shadow coming out of Quentin’s fucking bedroom door!

 

And heard their entire  _ fucking _ conversation like they were in a goddamn romcom!

 

Jesus Fucking Christ!

 

Yes, Margo Hanson was the brightest bitch of her age.

 

But her best friends were idiots.

 

Well, she said “idiots” with as much endearment and love in her heart for Quentin and Eliot as humanly possible, because they were her best friends in the whole fucking world and she would do literally _anything_ for them, especially if it furthered their happiness.

 

Not that she would admit that out loud with so many words.

 

And, normally, Margo tried very hard to not interfere with other people’s lives. 

 

But this was getting ridiculous.

 

And it was time she did something about it. 

 

Over the last four years, she has always respected the fact that Eliot didn’t  _ do _ feelings, and she has never, ever,  _ ever, _ tried to push him to talk about something he wasn’t ready to talk about. And she still wasn’t planning on doing that, because she refused to break her best friend’s trust like that.

 

And she couldn’t risk talking to Quentin about it, in case he went running back to Eliot.

 

So, she was going to have to get creative.

 

And she wasn’t going to be able to do it alone.

 

But not Alice. As much as she would have loved to bring her Kitty Cat in on the scheming, this was highly delicate situation, and her girlfriend was going to have to accept the fact that she was on a need-to-know basis until everything was resolved. 

 

And Margo wanted to keep all of this as under wraps as possible so that it wouldn’t spread like wildfire through their gossip driven department.

 

No, for this, she was going to need an expert.

 

She was going to need someone close to the situation.

 

Someone equally intelligent and equally good at scheming.

 

And they were gonna need a damn miracle.

 

So the morning after she over heard Eliot and Quentin’s conversation-- _seriously, “Margo’s at home, so maybe we shouldn’t,”_ _you fucking nerds--_ she pulled out her phone.

 

And sent the message:

 

_ We gotta talk. I’m guessing you know about what. Coffee, today?  _

 

And a few minutes later got the message back:

 

_ Oh, yes, we do. The Magic Roast? Before class? _

 

And sent back:

 

_ Yup. See you there. _

 

As she was leaving, just to sell it even further, knocked on Eliot’s (empty) room and said: “I’m heading out, El, see you at lunch!” and then to Quentin’s (double occupied) room and said: “See you at lunch, Q!”

 

_ As if _ she didn’t hear them shuffling in Quentin’s bed.

 

Jesus.

 

So she drove to the Magic Roast, the best coffee shop on the Brakebills campus, and swung open the door to find her scheming partner already waiting for her.

 

Margo sat down at the table and didn’t waste any time.

 

“Hey, thanks for meeting me! Quentin and Eliot are fucking,”

 

Julia Wicker, the Costume Goddess herself, didn’t bat an eye. 

 

“Oh, I know,” She said, sipping on her coffee.

 

Margo raised an eyebrow. “You knew about them?!”

 

Julia nodded, and then shrugged. “Well, I say  _ I know _ , but really just have had my suspicions. Quentin hasn’t actually confessed anything, but I’ve been his best friend for like, six years? So I know when he’s hiding something. And also, he’s a terrible liar. Seriously, the other week he tried to tell me that a  _ hickey  _ was a props shop mishap,” 

 

Margo rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Sounds like our boys,”

 

Julia grinned, and then pointed up at the counter. “Go ahead and get your coffee while the line’s down. Then we can talk more,”

 

So Margo ordered her coffee and an everything bagel-- _ they’re good, shut the fuck up _ \--and rejoined Julia at their table as the other girl munched on her croissant. 

 

“So what tipped you off about them?” Julia asked.

 

“Oh, like, so much. One, Eliot’s my best friend and I can read him like a book,” Margo shrugged. “Two, I’m with them like, all the time, and I’ve seen all of their weird ass drama this semester first hand,”

 

Julia nodded. “Yeah, there was like a few weeks were they weren’t talking to each other,”

 

“Unless they were fighting,” Margo pointed at her.

 

“True. What do you think happened there? That’s the only thing I can’t figure out,”

 

“I think...” Margo looked around the coffee shop to make sure the coast was clear and leaned in. “I think they fucked the night of the Dionysus Party and everything went to shit after that,”

 

Julia’s eyes widened. “Oh, my god,” She nodded furiously. “You’re so right. It explains so much,”

 

Margo grimaced and leaned back in her chair. “Which led to the Fuck Fest of Feral Fighting-”

 

“That’d be a good book title,” 

 

“-and I think the only reason that they stopped fighting is because they started fucking again,”

 

Julia took another swig of her coffee. “So, like, with them sleeping together, what’s your evidence to back that up? You’re totally right and I believe you, but I wanna be filled in,”

 

Margo sighed, and gave Julia the brief rundown of everything that she’d noticed between their friends in the last few weeks from Jello Legs Eliot, to the very inconspicuous “Get the lube!” she’d heard from inside the house, to the looks they always exchanged with one another whenever she said she wasn’t going to be home that night, and ending with the conversation she’d overheard the night before.

 

“I mean,” Margo recanted, “Eliot  _ seriously _ said “Do you wanna...” and then he-” Margo banged her knuckles on the table, “And then  _ Quentin  _ said “Margo’s home, so maybe we shouldn’t,” and then Eliot was all “Can I stay with you anyways?” and Quentin was like: “Yeah, El, you can stay,” like what the  _ fuck _ ? I couldn’t believe my ears,”

 

Julia’s jaw was at the table in a stupid grin, and she laughed. “That’s actually kinda cute,”

 

“I knoooooooooooooooooooow,” Margo groaned. “But they’re both idiots-”

 

“Yeah, they kind of are,”

 

“-and this has been going on for  _ weeks _ . It’s  _ ridiculous, _ ” Margo munched into her bagel. 

 

Julia nodded, and then softly smiled. “You know, Q’s had a crush on El since like, the day they met. It was kind of adorable,”

 

The corners of Margo’s mouth tugged upwards. “Yeah, you should have heard Eliot talk about Q after he gave him that tour. He said: “I met the  _ cutest _ little nerd today, Bambi, and I call  _ dibs _ ,” like I wasn’t already head over heels for Alice,” 

 

The two girls shared a small smile.

 

“Even though they’re idiots,” Margo said, staring down at her coffee cup, “They’re  _ our  _ idiots. And they clearly have feelings for each other. And I want them to be happy,”

 

Julia grinned at her. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your feelings,”

 

Margo rolled her eyes and tried not to grin. 

 

“Sooo, what are we gonna do about it?” Julia asked, a mischievous look in her eyes.

 

Margo smirked. She knew she could count on the Goddess.

 

“Well, I have an idea,” Margo started, “One that I  _ think _ we’d be able to pull off? Especially if I’ve got you on my side,to help me sell it. It’s a bit of a dick move, but it could work. I mean, the plan  _ kind of _ hangs on the idea that they’re not gonna explode on each other again until after midterms?” Margo pursed her lips, and then shrugged, “But even if they do, it could still work. Which, to me, makes the plan even more ideal. It’s kind of just a way for us to shove them in the right direction, without them realizing it,”

 

Julia nodded. “That would be ideal. What’s the plan?”

 

Margo bit her lip. “Well, I’d need you to take one for the team,”

 

Julia frowned. “What do you mean?”

 

Margo leaned in. “How’s your relationship with Kady, at this point?”

 

Julia’s forehead wrinkled. “Good, I think?”

 

“Think you can keep it that way until after fall break?”

 

Julia squinted her eyes. “Margo, what do you have planned?”

 

Margo leaned back in her seat and grinned.

 

“How do you feel about cabins?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) luv u pals


	16. Midterms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle the fuckle in, kiddos :)

**FRIDAY - MORNING**

**FOUR DAYS BEFORE THE THEATRE HISTORY MIDTERM**

 

Quentin woke to sunlight streaming in through his window.

 

And the sound of someone clunking up the stairs.

 

It took him a moment to process that he was, indeed, awake. His head was still stuck in sweet dreams and he felt....well rested. Which was kind of an anomaly for him. But he was laying on his side, warm all over in a physical and metaphorical sense. Familiar and comforting scents surrounded him and he sleepily opened his eyes.

 

Well, he was in his own room.

 

And the more he awakened, the more he became in tune with his own body, and realized that he was sharing his bed with someone else.

 

Someone else who was the comforting scents surrounding him, the warmth pressed against his back, the long arm wrapped around his torso, and the legs entangled with his own. 

 

Eliot.

 

Eliot, who was spooning him.

 

Eliot, who was clearly still asleep.

 

Eliot, whose face was buried in his neck.

 

_ Eliot. _

 

Quentin tried to remember the last time they woke up in bed together.

 

Because despite the few weeks that they’d been sleeping together, they hadn’t been  _ sleeping _ together. They’d fuck or fool around in each other’s beds (and the shower and the piano bench and the couch and the kitchen table and the island counter tops and the back porch and against the wall and anywhere with a flat surface, really) but there wasn’t really any....cuddling. Maybe a little bit, like, post orgasm, or whatever. But nothing long term. They always slept in their own beds, in case Margo came back in the morning or in the middle of the night and discovered them. It wasn’t Quentin’s ideal way of living, but that was apparently what happened when you were fucking your roommate in secret.

 

No, the last time they’d woken up like this, bodies entwined and the sunlight pouring in, had been the morning after the Dionysus Party.

 

A quiet fear ran through Quentin’s chest.

 

What if this morning brought the same results?

 

What if, even after the last few weeks, even after last night-

 

_ (“But, can I just stay with you, anyway?”) _

 

-Eliot woke up and pushed him away,  _ again _ , in a physical sense, in an emotional sense, in every sense that would crush him.

 

He didn’t know that he could take that.

 

Quentin didn’t get much further in his thinking because then he heard Margo’s voice down the hall, knocking on a door that was far enough away from Quentin’s room to be Eliot’s.

 

“I’m heading out, El, see you at lunch!” Margo called to Eliot’s (empty) room.

 

Behind him, Eliot was apparently waking up, because he moaned into the back of Quentin’s neck.

 

Oh,  _ shit. _

 

Margo clunked over to Quentin’s door and Eliot was still making noises, so Quentin swiftly rotated around, still underneath Eliot’s arm, to face the other man.

 

And Quentin did the only thing he could think of that would silence Eliot.

 

He kissed him.

 

It was a soft and gentle kiss, more chaste than anything.

 

But it sure shut him up.

 

Then Margo called to Quentin’s (doubly occupied) room: “See you at lunch, Q!”

 

Eliot’s eyes fluttered opened, whether it was from Margo’s voice or Quentin’s kiss, didn’t really matter. Because once he realized Quentin was kissing him, his body seemed to wake up and he closed his eyes and kissed Quentin deeper.

 

And he pulled Quentin closer.

 

Oh.

 

Quentin didn’t expect that.

 

As Margo clunked down the stairs and out the front door, they pulled apart from each other, and Eliot gave him a sleepy smile.

 

“Well, good morning to you, too, Coldwater,” Eliot mumbled, and then he sleepily closed his eyes again. “Was that Bambi, I heard?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Quentin blushed.

 

Eliot slowly opened one eye. “Did she see us?”

 

“No,” Quentin answered, and Eliot closed his eye and nuzzled back down into Quentin, sighing deeply and relaxing into their embrace.

 

Quentin’s chest fluttered.

 

He was having some feelings, at the moment.

 

And then Eliot’s eyes opened again and his brow furrowed. He looked at Quentin intensely.

 

“Is this....okay?” Eliot whispered, tentative, unsure, his eyes flicking down to their tangled arms and legs and warm embrace.

 

Quentin’s chest fluttered again.

 

“It’s okay with me, if it’s okay with you,”  He whispered back, rubbing his thumb against Eliot’s arm that was holding him tight.

 

Eliot nodded and smiled. “It’s okay with me,”

 

Quentin stared into Eliot’s eyes, and for a moment, got lost in them.

 

Got lost in the soft way that Eliot was looking at him.

 

And then his alarm went off.

 

Both of the boys groaned, and Quentin rolled away to reach up on his night stand to turn his phone off.

 

“What time is it?” Eliot mumbled, his hand still resting on Quentin’s stomach.

 

“Too fucking early,” Quentin replied, and then rolled back over and into Eliot. “But that was my first alarm, so I’ve only got like another fifteen minutes before I  _ actually  _ have to get up,”

 

He’d intended for that to fall into the notion of “So I can sleep for another fifteen minutes!” but Eliot wiggled his eyebrows. Or at least, as much as he could while half awake. 

 

“Hey, you can do a lot in that time,” He sleepily grinned.

 

Quentin rolled his eyes. “El, we were having such a nice morning-”

 

“What, have you never heard of a quickie?”

 

“Jesus Fuck, Eliot,”

 

“If I’m fucking you, I don’t want Jesus involved in it,”

 

Quentin laughed and buried his face in Eliot’s neck, where he could feel the vibrations from the taller man’s own laughter. Eliot held him closer and rested his chin against Quentin’s head. 

 

Quentin deeply breathed in the scent of Eliot. 

 

Oh.

 

Quentin was feeling a  _ lot _ of things. 

 

About Eliot.

 

And about their agreement.

 

And how this morning fit into that agreement.

 

Or rather, how it very much did  _ not _ fit into that agreement.

 

So what did that mean?

 

For them?

 

These were more feelings than he could actually process, at the moment.

 

More than he was capable of thinking of, at the moment.

 

More than he wanted to think about in the soft morning glow of Eliot’s arms.

 

Because, well, Quentin hadn’t even fully processed his feelings for Eliot yet.

 

Well.

 

He certainly did not want to spend the next fifteen minutes processing in silence.

 

Having to think about those feelings.

 

And in Eliot’s arms.

 

No, better not.

 

So he tilted his head up and pressed a kiss to Eliot’s neck.

 

And another.

 

And another.

 

And another.

 

“Hmm, changed your mind, did you?” Eliot hummed.

Quentin nipped at his neck in response.

 

Eliot ginned and lazily rolled them over, looking down at Quentin.

 

“Let’s see what I can do in fifteen minutes,” 

 

**SATURDAY - EVENING**

**THREE DAYS BEFORE THE THEATRE HISTORY MIDTERM**

 

Quentin walked into the Cottage with a sigh, shoving his phone in his pocket.

 

“Hey, Q!” He heard Julia’s voice call, and he looked up to see the whole gang (Eliot, Julia, Margo, Alice, Kady) gathered around the table.

 

“Hey guys,” He said, giving them all a weird look and claiming the seat next to Eliot. “What’s going on?”

 

Eliot threw his arm over the back of Quentin’s chair and sent him a delighted grin. “Fall break plans, apparently. Want to get in on them?”

 

_ Um, hey there, feelings. _

 

Quentin tried to be aware of the fact that they were surrounded by their friends at the moment, otherwise he would have reached over and kissed Eliot then and there.

 

_ Let’s just shove those pesky little feelings back under the rug. _

 

“Oh, I don’t think you can, Q,” Julia’s voice pulled him back to reality, and he turned his head to see her frowning at him. “Didn’t you say that you had to go home and visit your parents?”

 

Awh.

 

Quentin was touched that Julia remembered him bitching about it last week.

 

But he sighed. “Not anymore. Apparently they won like, a free trip to the Bahamas or something?” He shook his head. “So whatever you guys are planning, count me in,”

 

Julia gave him a sympathetic look, and reached over to squeeze his hand. He sent her a grateful look, but secretly, he was glad that he didn’t have to go deal with his parents’ insanity. There’d been a lot of tension and drama between them recently, stuff he didn’t like to talk about.

 

And he’d much rather spend Fall Break with his friends. 

 

And Eliot.

 

Margo clapped her hands and smiled. “Great! How do you feel about cabins?”

  
  


**SUNDAY -  AFTERNOON**

**TWO DAYS BEFORE THE THEATRE HISTORY MIDTERM.**

 

Despite the fact that the theatre majors often bitched at and about each other excessively, there were times when they all actually liked each other. Like when the whole group (Quentin, Eliot, Margo, Alice, Julia, Kady, Josh, Penny, and Todd) met up for lunch at the local burger joint: Castle Blackspire. It had been Julia’s idea for a group lunch, and who is anyone to say no to the Goddess?

 

And currently, they were all just bitching about midterms.

 

“I have to write three whole papers before Wednesday,” Margo groaned.

 

Alice smirked at her. “Babe, that’s your own fault for double majoring,”

 

Margo frowned. “Hello? You’re supposed to be on my side?”

 

“We’ve got a massive project due for the sound design class, and none of us have started,” Josh groaned, with Penny, Kady, and Todd nodding with him.

 

“Well, I think we can all agree that we’re all royally fucked by the theatre history midterm,” Margo commented, munching on a fry.

 

The entire table groaned in unison.

 

“I don’t remember anything from the first two weeks,” Quentin moaned.

 

“I couldn’t tell you jack shit about Ancient Greek Theatre,” Penny scoffed.

 

“And I still don’t know the difference between Noh Theatre and Kabuki Theatre,” Kady lamented.

 

“Are we supposed to know all the characters for Commedia dell'Arte?” Alice asked.

 

“I’ve skipped like, three classes already, so I’m fucked,” Eliot cried.

 

“Did Sutherland say that the midterm was going to include morality plays or passion plays?”

 

“Jesus, I’m gonna have to go through so many of my notes,”

 

“I lost my notebook with all my notes in it,”

 

“Does anyone have an extra copy of the study guide?”

 

“If I have to read about the Italian Renaissance again, I’m gonna claw my eyes out,”

 

“Why didn’t we cover any Shakespeare this semester?”

 

“Because this is Theatre History One, dumbass, only up to right  _ before _ Shakespeare,”

 

“Yeah, I think we’re starting with Shakespeare next semester?”

 

“Honey, I’m just trying to get through  _ this _ semester,”

 

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Alice cut into the bitching, “What if we all met up tomorrow night in the library? Not like, the bar, but like the actual library? We could all study together,”

 

Quentin nodded. “That would probably be super fucking helpful. We get out of rehearsal at what, ten?” He looked to Margo and Kady.

 

“Yeah,” Kady nodded. “We could head over right after,”

 

“Please, God,” Eliot groaned. “I need a group study sesh so bad,”

 

Todd sipped his drink. “Can I come, even though I’m not in the class?”

 

“No, Todd,”

 

**MONDAY - NIGHT**

**THE DAY BEFORE THE THEATRE HISTORY MIDTERM**

**10:00 PM - TWELVE HOURS LEFT**

 

Quentin, Eliot, Margo, and Kady walked across campus in the darkness with their backpacks slung over their shoulders and shivering in the early October night air. 

 

“The cabin is really great,” Margo was telling them. “It’s got like, three levels and a firepit and a hot tub and enough bedrooms for all of us individually,”

 

“A hot tub?” Kady grinned. “Damn, way to go, Margo,”

 

Quentin frowned, “How the fuck can we afford this place for the weekend?”

 

“Daddy Hanson works for a Travel Agency,” Eliot elbowed Quentin and wiggled his eyebrows.

 

Margo rolled her eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t call him that. But yes, my dad works for the Liberty Travel Agency, so he helped me find a cabin and then got us a good price for it,”

 

“Liberty Travel Agency?” Quentin asked, “That’s the company that gave my parents their Bahamas tickets,”

 

“Not surprising,” Margo shrugged. “They’re a big company. Nationwide. Top of the line,”

 

“Yeah, otherwise Daddy Hanson wouldn’t work there,”

 

“Eliot, I’m gonna drop kick your ass,”

 

**11:00 PM - ELEVEN HOURS LEFT**

 

So far it was just Quentin, Eliot, Margo, Julia, Alice, and Kady.

 

And the group grabbed a corner section on the third floor. It was the general go-to spot for them, with multiple tables that was far enough away from the rest of the world that they could adequately spread out and claim the space like the obnoxious theatre majors that they were, without any weird looks from STEM or business majors. And when theatre kids settled into a space, they  _ settled _ . They had their notes and snacks covering the tables and half of them had their feet propped up and Alice and Julia had even brought their own blankets.

 

Currently, Eliot was standing in front of a large white board and putting together a timeline of theatrical events based off of everyone’s notes. Well, mostly Margo and Alice’s notes, but everyone else was enthusiastically paying attention. 

 

“I thought Kabuki was the puppet theatre?” Quentin asked.

 

“No, that’s Bunraku,” Alice interjected.

 

“I don’t care about that at the moment, I care about where it goes on the timeline,” Eliot pointed at the board. “One thing at a time, folks,”

 

“After we finish the timeline, can we go over definitions?” Julia raised her hand.

 

Kady frowned. “I thought we were going over the types of theatre structures,”

 

Eliot tapped his marker on the board. “One! Thing! At! A! Time!”

 

“I still don’t know what Kabuki is,” Quentin raised his hand.

 

**TUESDAY**

**THE DAY OF THE THEATRE HISTORY FINAL**

**12:00 AM - TEN HOURS LEFT**

 

It wouldn’t be a library all nighter if they didn’t order pizza.

 

Josh had showed up to the study session and actually been the one to suggest the idea.

 

To literally no one’s surprise.

 

The whole group pitched in cash to get three extra large cheese pizzas so that they could feast like kings and queens while trying to remember the differences between miracle plays and morality plays. 

 

Eliot had volunteered to call in the order, as he was the only one amongst them who didn’t hate talking on the phone, so when the pizza arrived, it was his phone that rang.

 

“Pizza’s out front,” He said, standing up. “Who wants to help me?”

 

“I’ll go with you,” Quentin said, standing up, a little too quickly. “I wanna get a soda from the market downstairs,”

 

Margo coughed.

 

Quentin frowned. “Want me to get you a water, Margo?”

 

She smiled sweetly at him and shook her head. “I’m good, thanks, Q,”

 

So he shrugged and joined Eliot on their Pizza Mission.

 

“I think it’s going well so far,” Quentin commented as he and Eliot bounced their way down the stairs to the lobby, “I’m feeling pretty good about the material,”

 

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Okay, but have you actually retained anything?”

 

“Of course not,” Quentin said. “But there’s still time,”

 

Eliot groaned as they passed the second floor. “I can’t believe we’re gonna be here all  _ night _ . I’m gonna  _ die _ ,”

 

Quentin swatted at him. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s gonna be fun,”

 

Eliot made a face. “Library all nighters are not  _ fun _ , Quentin,”

 

Quentin reached the doors to the lobby first, and paused, causing Eliot to almost crash into him. He looked at Eliot over his shoulder, and bit his lip in the way he knew drove Eliot  _ crazy. _

 

“Well,” He grinned, slyly, “I’m sure there are _ things _ we could do to pass the time,”

 

Eliot’s eyebrows skyrocketed and his jaw dropped into a comical grin. 

 

Quentin winked at him as he pushed through the doors.

 

Eliot smacked his ass. 

 

**1:00 AM - NINE HOURS LEFT**

 

Having gorged themselves on pizza and officially finished writing out the timeline of Theatrical History and drawing out the diagrams of Ancient Greek and Roman Theatres, the group energy was dying down. 

 

Margo had stopped paying attention and was scrolling on her phone. Alice was nodding off underneath her blanket. Josh and Quentin were tossing a paper ball back and forth. Eliot had been staring out the window for the last fifteen minutes. Kady was braiding her hair. And Julia was desperately trying to get everyone to review the timeline once more for posterity.

 

“Alright, that’s it!” Julia huffed. “All of you, get your butts up!”

 

Quentin made a face at her. “What are you, seventy?”

 

“Quentin Makepeace Coldwater-”

 

He threw up his hands and stood up. “Alright, I’m up, I’m up!”

 

Slowly, groaning, and shooting Julia the evil eye, the rest of the theatre majors stood up in their little corner of the library. She huffed again, and put her hands on her hips.

 

“It’s only 1am people!” She stared them all down, “And we’ve got a lot more ground to cover if we’re all gonna pass this final. So we’re going to need to hit our second wind,”

 

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Hoolia, you can’t force us to have energy-”

 

“Oh, yes, I can!” Julia pointed a finger at him. “I worked at a summer drama camp for kids for three  _ freaking _ years, buddy. And we’re going to have a  _ dance party,” _

 

“Um, a what?” Alice raised her hand. 

 

“A  _ dance  _ party,” Julia nodded. “We’re going to play some obnoxious music and get our bodies moving, and then we’re going to commit these dates to memory,” She pointed at the board for extra emphasis. “Am I clear?”

 

Kady bit her lip and gave Julia an up and down look. “Yes,  _ ma’am,” _

 

Eliot pointed at Kady. “Is that allowed?”

 

“Eliot, shut up,” Julia held up her finger. “Josh, do you have a speaker on you?’

 

Josh scoffed. “Of course, I do,” He reached into his bag and pulled out one of his mini speakers.

 

“Oh, I’ve got the perfect song,” Quentin said, rushing over to grab the aux cord.

 

Julia’s eyes widened. “Quentin, no-”

 

She was cut off by the sound of a percussive beat, and everyone groaned.

 

“Shut up! The song has been chosen!” Quentin sent them all a shit eating groan.

 

And so, begrudgingly, and then eventually, after getting into it, excitedly and stupidly, they all danced to Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” like they were crazy kids at a summer drama camp.

 

And so the second wind came blowing in. 

 

**2:00 AM - EIGHT HOURS LEFT**

 

Quentin may be an idiot, but he wasn’t  _ that _ stupid _. _

 

He  _ definitely _ saw the way Eliot was looking at him.

 

The way Eliot had been glancing at him for the last half hour, actually. 

 

They’d been sleeping together long enough for Quentin to recognize That Look in Eliot’s eyes.

 

That look of..... hunger.

 

Well, horniness.

 

But hunger sounded better.

 

But they were in the middle of a study session with their friends, so Quentin ignored him. Not like,  _ rudely _ ignored him, just ignored the way Eliot was biting his lip and clearing his throat and nudging Quentin under the table with his foot. The pair sat right next to each other, so Eliot had easy access, but they were also at the same table as all of their friends. 

 

And they were halfway through their vocab cards and making good progress.

 

Well, it’s not that Quentin didn’t  _ want _ to sneak off with Eliot and hookup somewhere in the library. Because, he absolutely did, and had even hinted at it earlier. It’s that they were, and he could not stress this enough, sitting at the same table with  _ all of their friends. _

 

If it was going to happen, they were going to need to be a little bit more slick about it.

 

Eliot nudged his leg with his foot under the table once more, and Quentin sent him a  _ look _ that hoped would read as: “ _ Patience, you horny motherfucker,” _

 

Eliot lightly knocked his knuckles against the table and bit his lip. 

 

_ Oh _ , Eliot was going to be the death of him.

 

“Hey, Quentin,” Julia pulled his attention away from the other man. “We need more info about the history of Medieval Theatre. You wrote your last paper on that, right?”

 

“Hmm?” Quentin asked, turning his head towards her.

 

“Could you go get a book about the history of Medieval Theatre?” Julia asked.

 

“Oh, that would actually be super helpful,” Margo chimed in, shuffling through her notes. “Can you get the one by Wickham? I used that one for my paper and it has some good stuff in it,”

 

Quentin nodded, and lightly knocked his knuckles against the table as he stood up. “Yeah, I know the book you’re talking about and I remember where it is in the stacks,”

 

“You know,” Eliot said, closing his binder. “I’ve been sitting for too long, can I join you, Q?”

 

“Sure,” Quentin shrugged trying to sound nonchalant. “We’ll be back in a bit,”

 

“Take your time, we’re in no rush,” Margo waved at them, not looking up from her notes.

 

Once they got a safe distance away, Quentin elbowed Eliot.

 

“El, you’re gonna get us caught if you keep acting like that,” He scolded.

 

“No one noticed,” Eliot rolled his eyes, and then he tugged Quentin’s sleeve in the direction of the stairs. “Come on, the bathroom on the seventh floor is always empty,”

 

_ Woah, there. _

 

A warm feeling rushed through Quentin.

 

_ Hey, feelings. You’re supposed to be under a rug _ .

 

“El, the book...” He trailed off. 

 

Eliot stopped and turned around. “We can get it after. I mean, unless you  _ don’t _ want me to...” He stepped in closer, looking around, and whispered the rest in Quentin’s ear.

 

Quentin’s eyes widened. “Yes. Yes. Go. Now.” was all he was able to get out while he pushed a grinning Eliot in the direction of the stairwell.

 

He’d never gotten a blowjob in a bathroom before.

 

First time for everything.    
  


**3:00 AM - SEVEN HOURS LEFT**

 

Penny arrived a little after 3am, just after he’d gotten off his shift at the  _ other _ Library. And he announced his presence to the group in the most terrible and mortifying way possible. 

 

By pointing out the hickey Quentin had on the back of his neck.

 

Quentin had been sitting with his back towards the entrance of their little nook, and for whatever fucking reason, decided it was safe for him to put his hair up in a bun. It’d been getting in his face and annoying him, so it didn’t seem like a big deal.

 

Except, it exposed where Eliot had placed his last hickey. 

 

And Penny walked in and  _ immediately _ said, “Woah, that’s a bigass hickey, Coldwater,”

 

Oh,  _ fuck. _

 

After the Julia Incident, they’d both talked about being more discreet with the hickeys, but not stopping them entirely. Because, well, Eliot liked giving them and Quentin liked receiving them. But they’d figured out that if Eliot kept his marks on the back of Quentin’s neck and anywhere below the collarbone, Q’s shirt and hair could hide them.  

 

And the specific hickey that was currently on the back of his neck had been placed there days ago, when Eliot had him facedown on the-

 

_ You know, _ best not to revisit that memory at the moment, at a table with all of his friends, when everyone’s heads had just snapped towards him simultaneously.

 

“What? I, um, I don’t know what you’re, uh-” Quentin stumbled over his words, and immediately took down his hair.

 

Eliot was, for the first time all night, deeply focused on his notes.

 

And Quentin’s chest tightened a little bit.

 

_ Help me out here, El. _

 

Quentin also might have seen Margo and Julia exchange a look, but he was so mortified to have everyone staring at him that he might have imagined it.

 

“Dude,” Penny grabbed a seat at the table. “It’s  _ massive _ ,”

 

Julia rolled her eyes. “Quentin, did you get into another accident at the props shop?”

 

_ Oh, thank God. _

 

“Yes!” He snapped his fingers. “I sure did!”

 

Penny shook his head. “That’s not a bruise or a scratch, man. That’s a  _ hickey, _ ”

 

Josh wiggled his eyebrows. “Ooh, Quentin’s been getting down and dirty recently,”

 

“I have  _ not _ ,”

 

Kady pointed her finger at him. “Didn’t I call this like, weeks ago? Right before Peter closed?”

 

Alice nodded. “Oh, yeah, you did mention that,”

 

“Oh, my God,” Quentin buried his face in his hands.

 

Well, even if Eliot wasn’t helping him, someone else was.

 

“Okay, so who cares if Quentin has a fuck buddy?” Margo shrugged. “We’re getting away from the studying here,”

 

_ Bless you, Margo. _

 

“Oh, I care,” Kady grinned and propped her feet up on the table. “If Q’s been getting kinky, I wanna know who with,”

 

“I second that,” Josh raised his hand. “Give us the details, man,”

 

“This is my hell,” Quentin said from his hands.

 

“Wait,” Alice said, “If Kady suspected this back before Peter closed, and that hickey is fresh, this must have been going on for a  _ while _ now,”

 

“Come on, Coldwater, spill,” Penny egged him on.

 

“Okay, fine,” Quentin said, lifting his head, just wanting them to shut up and leave him alone. “I’ve been seeing...... someone,”

 

The table, sans Julia, Margo, and Eliot, whooped. 

 

Eliot still wasn’t looking at him.

 

_ Fuck!  _

 

“What’s the girl’s name?” Josh asked.

 

“Nah, I bet it’s a dude,” Kady crossed her arms.

 

“I’d second that bet,” Penny pointed at Kady.

 

_ Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! _

 

He couldn’t just admit his sexcapades with Eliot then and there! If they were gonna go public with.....whatever the fuck was going on between them, that had to be a joint decision after a serious conversation. And maybe a serious conversation about defining  _ whatever the fuck was going on between them.  _ Because Quentin didn’t even _ know _ what to call it. Friends with benefits? Fuck buddies?

 

Because they sure as fuck weren’t dating!

 

It was very clearly a no feelings zone!

 

Would Eliot even  _ want _ to date him?

 

Did  _ Quentin _ even know what  _ he  _ wanted?

 

He was too tired for all of this.

 

Oh, God. 

 

Everyone was staring at him.

 

He panicked.

 

“Nigel!” Quentin blurted out. “His name is Nigel,”

 

His terrorizers whooped again.

 

Eliot still wasn’t looking at him.

 

_ Fuck! _

 

**4:00 AM - SIX HOURS LEFT**

 

Luckily, Penny wasn’t there for long. He took pictures of the white board and copied down some of the notes and then was out of there. 

 

Josh wasn’t far behind him. 

 

Kady volunteered to drive a sleepy Alice home.

 

Margo, Julia, Quentin, and Eliot remained.

 

Eliot still wasn’t really looking at him.

 

**5:00 AM - FIVE HOURS LEFT**

 

They quizzed each other via flashcards and took turns taking naps on the floor under the table.

 

Exhaustion was wearing into all of them.

 

**6:00 AM - FOUR HOURS LEFT**

 

The long hours were wearing Quentin’s patience thin. 

 

Ever since the Hickey Disaster, Eliot had been avoiding his eyes. And he’d been snippy and practically  _ radiating  _ pissiness, not just towards Q, but to Margo and Julia too.

 

And it was pissing Quentin off.

 

It wasn’t Quentin’s fault he got put in a shitty situation and then poorly reacted while being put on the spot about his sex life in front of  _ literally _ everyone, and Margo and Julia had nothing to do with any of it. And it’s not like Eliot helped him or backed him up at all.

 

So he didn’t know why Eliot was, once a- _ fucking _ -gain, pushing him away.

 

Quentin just needed to be alone with him for like,  _ a moment, _ to talk to him and figure out what the hell was going on with him.

 

“Hey, Julia,” Quentin rubbed his temples.

 

“Yeah, Q?” 

 

“How much do you love me?” He gave her his best puppy dog eyes.

 

She smiled at him. “You want me to make a coffee run, don’t you?”

 

Quentin nodded, and smiled back. “It just tastes better when it comes from you,”

 

Julia rolled her eyes. “More like you’re too lazy to go yourself. Come on, Margo, let’s go,”

 

“Why do I have to go?” Margo whined.

 

Julia gave her a look.

 

Margo grumbled, but she got up, grabbed her wallet, and followed Julia out.

 

A silence stretched between them.

 

Quentin bit his lip.

 

He got up, moved around the other side of the table, and sat down in the chair next to Eliot.

 

“What’s going on, El?”

 

Eliot rolled his eyes. “ _ Nigel, _ really?”

 

“You can’t possibly be mad about that,”

 

Eliot stared at the table. “So, what if I am?”

 

Quentin sighed, and placed his hand on Eliot’s leg. “El, I just said the first name that came to mind-”

 

“Except for mine,” Eliot’s eyes flicked up to his.

 

Quentin’s heart caught in his throat. “That’s not fair and you  _ know _ it,”

 

Eliot held his gaze and clenched his jaw.

 

Quentin ran his hand over his face. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, guys, Eliot and I are fucking, but it doesn’t mean anything!’”

 

As soon as he said it, he regretted it.

 

Eliot’s face twisted into a scowl. “ _ Really _ , Quentin?”

 

_ Fuck! _

 

“That’s not-”

 

“That’s the first thing that popped into your head?”

 

_ What the Fuck! _

 

“I don’t-”

 

“So, what was that kiss? That morning after I spent the night?”

 

_ Where the Fuck was this coming from?! _

 

“Margo was right outside the door and you were making noises!” Quentin actually managed to get a full sentence out.

 

Eliot squinted his eyes and cocked his jaw. “So you thought  _ kissing  _ me was the logical solution-“

 

“I don’t know, Eliot! That’s just what you do when you’re fucking your roommate in secret!”

 

Eliot had a  _ physical _ reaction. He looked away and crossed his arms and sunk lower in his seat and did all of the Classic Eliot Waugh Running Away Techniques.

 

_ Fucking shit! _

 

“El, can we just-” Quentin reached his hand out.

 

Eliot pulled away from his touch. Not severely or sharply, like when he had sliced his arm or when he had a panic attack, but just enough for Quentin’s heart to crumble in his chest.

 

“No, you’re right,” Eliot’s gaze went back to the table.

 

“Eliot-”

 

“High King of Heartbreaks, and all, right?” Eliot bit his lip. “I’m just the casual sex guy,”

 

“El-”

 

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Eliot asked, looking back at Quentin. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that this all means something more to you,”

 

Quentin couldn’t  _ breathe. _

 

This was  _ not _ how this conversation was supposed to go. He was supposed to have worked out his feelings in his head before they had this conversation. And Quentin knew that if he could just sit for five seconds and if Eliot could just  _ slow down _ and let him think and finish a goddamned sentence then  _ maybe _ he could answer.

 

But Eliot was still staring up at him, and Quentin apparently had to give a fucking answer right then and right there and this wasn’t fair and he could feel his heart beating in his chest and his words caught in his throat and his brain was fried and he just wanted to go to sleep and he had been trying not to cry for the better part of an hour anyway and if Eliot would stop bombarding him and if Eliot would stop staring at him like _That_ maybe he could formulate some words for his feelings but right now he wanted _nothing_ more than to just forget this whole conversation ever happened and bury himself in Eliot’s arms and just _rest_. On an emotional and physical and _cellular_ level because he was so tired and of course it would be Eliot’s arms he wanted to be in and it would always _be_ Eliot and of course it meant-

 

“Ugh, the Starbucks was closed,” Margo loudly announced as they came back in.

 

_ No, no, no, no. _

 

Eliot stood up. “I’m gonna take a walk,”

 

“No, wait, Eliot,” Quentin stood up. “Please,”

 

Quentin didn’t even care that Julia and Margo were standing there.

 

“El, you can’t just throw something like that on me and not give me five seconds-“

 

“You shouldn’t need five seconds, Quentin, it was a yes or no question,” Eliot swiveled back to him, eyes  _ hurting. _

 

“Can you  _ please _ just slow down, Eliot-“

 

Eliot shook his head and kept walking.

 

Quentin choked back tears. 

 

“ _ Eliot _ !”

 

**7:00 AM - THREE HOURS LEFT**

 

Julia pulled Quentin to the fourth floor and they sat on the floor between the stacks. 

 

She didn’t ask any questions, and he was grateful. 

 

He cried with his knees pulled up to his chest while she stroked his hair.

 

He slept with his head in her lap for a while.

 

**8:00 AM - TWO HOURS LEFT**

 

When his eyes snapped open, Quentin had made a decision. He wiped the sleep and tears from his eyes and stomped towards their corner of the library, with Julia hot on his heels.

 

Margo was sitting at the table, but Eliot was laying across it, almost in the same way he had been the first day they met. Lounging, at 8am in the goddamned morning, across a table in the goddamned library.

 

And the second Quentin stormed back in, he looked up.

 

Their eyes locked.

 

Quentin beelined to Eliot, grabbed him by the arm and yanked him up from the table. 

 

Eliot didn’t fight it as Quentin pulled him away from their corner of the library and dragged him into the stacks, dragged him away from Julia and Margo, dragged him to a place deep enough in the library where no one else could hear them.

 

And he swiveled around and faced Eliot.

 

“You don’t get to fucking do that, Eliot Waugh.” Quentin snapped.

 

“Do  _ what _ , Quentin?” Eliot asked, crossing his arms.

 

“You don’t get to deliver fucking ultimatums and ask hard questions and then cut me off before I have a goddamn second to think or answer,” He jammed his finger into Eliot’s chest. “And you  _ especially _ don’t get to run away from me anymore. We’re beyond that, El.”

 

“Are we?” Eliot bit out, eyes sharp. “I’m not sure, Q. I never seem to know what the fuck you’re thinking.”

 

“Then ask me,  _ shit head _ .” Q hissed, pushing lightly on Eliot’s shoulder. “Ask me when we are  _ alone _ , and let me finish a goddamned sentence before you launch into the next thing and actually  _ listen  _ to me. Let me say what I have to say, and then  _ you _ have to fucking tell me what  _ you’re _ thinking, otherwise we’re not going to get anywhere!”

 

El sighed and looked up. 

 

Quentin crossed his arms and waited.

 

Eliot bit his lip. “But what if I don’t know what to say?”

 

“Then you should fucking understand why I don’t either!” Q cried, throwing his hands up. “You should be able to use that smartass brain of yours and take two seconds out of your entire goddamn life to think of someone other than yourself,”

 

“It’s not my fault that you’re better at this than me, Q,” Eliot protested. “You’ve always been the braver one, out of the two of us,”

 

“Bullshit. Don’t pull that excuse,” Quentin took a step forward. “Do you seriously think  _ any _ of this is easy for me, Eliot?” 

 

Eliot looked at the floor.

 

Quentin waited.

 

“I’m sorry,” Eliot said, quietly. “I freaked out about the hickey thing and I shouldn’t have said all that stuff. It wasn’t fair to you and I’m sorry,”

 

Quentin sighed. “Thank you for apologizing,”

 

“I mean it, Q,” Eliot looked at him with sincere eyes,  “I’m sorry,”

 

And Quentin believed him.

 

Quentin took a deep breath and made another decision. 

 

He reached out and laced his fingers through Eliot’s. 

 

“You’re forgiven,” He said, looking up at the other man.

 

And for a moment, they just looked at each other, getting lost in each other.

 

A multitude of feelings went tumbling around inside Quentin’s chest.

 

“So...what do we do now?” Eliot asked, softly, looking down at their clasped hands.

 

“We stop fighting,” He answered. “And we just try to get through like,  _ 48 hours _ without exploding on each other,”

 

Eliot’s eyes scanned the books next to them. “And then what?”

 

“We  _ talk, _ ” Quentin squeezed his hand. “And  _ listen _ to each other. And it’s not gonna be easy, but we just  _ have _ to work through some shit, okay?”

 

Eliot nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, I can do that,” Eliot then took another deep breath, and asked: “Are  _ we _ going to be okay, Q?”

 

Quentin rubbed his thumb gently on Eliot’s hand. “Yeah, El. We’re gonna be okay,” And then: “Just don’t pull anymore shit like that on me again, got it?”

 

Eliot nodded. “Got it,”

 

A small and soft smile was exchanged between them.

 

“I guess...” Eliot scratched his head. “I guess we should go back to Margo and Julia now?”

 

Quentin groaned, and pressed his face into Eliot’s shoulder. “Yeah. I don’t even want to know what they thought of all of that,”

 

Eliot laughed, and Quentin let himself smile as he breathed in the scent of Eliot’s shirt.

 

“Come on, better not keep them waiting,” Eliot started to move back towards where they came from, tried to pull his hand away, but on an impulse, Quentin pulled Eliot back to him and looked him in the eyes.

 

“It does, you know,” Quentin said. “It does mean....  _ more  _ to me,”

 

Eliot  _ melted _ . “Me, too, Q,”

 

They squeezed each other’s hands once more, and then released them as they made their way back to where Margo and Julia were, no doubt, waiting from them.

 

They were okay.

 

That was all they needed, at the moment.

 

**9:00 AM - ONE HOUR LEFT**

 

The four of them got coffee at the Magic Roast and went over final details off the study guide.

 

Well.

 

Margo and Julia got coffee.

 

Quentin and Eliot got tea.

 

And Quentin and Eliot sat next to each other, their hands brushing under the table.

 

Margo and Julia didn’t say anything about the morning’s events. 

 

**10:00 AM - THE THEATRE HISTORY FINAL**

 

By some kind of miracle, and hours of cramming, Quentin knew every single answer on the test. 

 

And he felt good. Really good.

 

**11:00 AM - AFTER**

 

Quentin crawled underneath silk sheets and into Eliot’s arms to sleep off the events of the last twelve hours. 

 

They didn’t say anything. They’d get to that later.

 

For now, they rested.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter is gonna be the Horny Finale, fyi :)


	17. Fall Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus concludes Act Three: Horny! Hope you guys have enjoyed it just as much as I have!

It had been a couple days since the Library Talk.

 

A couple of days since Quentin got official confirmation that whatever the hell was going on with Eliot meant something  _ more _ . 

 

To the  _ both _ of them. 

 

They still hadn’t had the more In-depth Feelings Talk yet, but that was okay, truly. They weren’t in any kind of rush, and things had been a little crazy with midterms. And really, the only thing that had really changed between them now was that A.) they were actually communicating, even on the small stuff, which was nice, and B.) the sex was  _ really  _ good. 

 

Like.

 

_ Really good. _

 

The one thing that actually hadn’t changed was the fact that they were still sneaking around, which was only mildly frustrating. Quentin knew that it wasn’t forever, but it was still a pain in the ass, especially after Tuesday. 

 

Because ever since they’d had their little Library Talk, it’d been hard for them to keep their hands off each other. Like, they had been horny bastards  _ before _ they had a small feelings talk, so Quentin couldn’t even imagine what it was gonna be like after the  _ big  _ feelings talk.

 

But the sneaking around thing was getting old, because well, Quentin really wanted to kiss Eliot.

 

Like, all the time.

 

And they couldn’t do that like,  _ all the time, _ when they had to keep jumping apart the second someone else walked in the room.

 

“So, what are we gonna like,  _ do  _ this weekend?” Quentin asked, passing Eliot their bottle of sunscreen.

 

Eliot took it and shrugged. “I think Margo said something about stargazing? And I think there’s gonna be a board game night,”

 

Quentin shook his head. “No, El, I mean like, about  _ us _ ,”

 

“Oh,” Eliot looked up from where he was kneeling on the floor next to their bag of supplies for their Cabin Weekend in the mountains. “Well, I don’t really know,” He gestured with his hand towards Quentin. “How about you tell me what you’re thinking and we can bounce ideas off of each other?”

 

The corners of Quentin’s mouth tugged upwards and he nodded, a warm feeling spreading through his chest and... further.

 

If someone had told him three weeks ago that Eliot Waugh would be open to any kind of conversation involving thoughts and feelings, let alone initiating them, he would have laughed. 

 

But now, honestly? It kind of just turned him on.

 

“Well,” Quentin sighed, focusing back on the conversation at hand, “What I  _ don’t _ want is for the girls to be up in our business before we know what our business is,” Quentin grabbed the bug spray and handed it over.

 

Eliot nodded. “Uh huh,”

 

“And I don’t want them to like, give us shit, you know?”

 

“Do you think they would?” Eliot asked, putting the bug spray in their bag.

 

“Kady and Alice absolutely would. Hello, the library?” Quentin rolled his eyes.

 

“True,” Eliot stood up. “Is that all of the stuff from the bathroom we need to pack?”

 

Quentin scanned their bathroom again. “Yeah, I think so. Do you wanna go pack up all the kitchen stuff we’re supposed to bring?” 

 

“Yeah,” Eliot nodded, and so the pair made their way down the stairs and to the kitchen, “Do you think Margo and Julia suspect anything?” He asked.

 

Quentin made a face. “Well, they haven’t said anything, so I guess not? At least, even if they know that things have been….” They exchanged a sheepish look. It was still a sensitive topic. “A  _ rollercoaster _ of events and stuff, they may not suspect that we’ve been like….” He vaguely waved his hand.

 

Eliot grinned. “Bumping butts?”

 

“Dont,”

 

“Churning the butter?”

 

“Oh my god,”

 

“Knocking boots?”

 

“Jesus Christ,”

 

“Doing the hanky panky?”

 

“ _ Eliot-“ _

 

“Doing the horizontal tango?”

 

“If you ever want me to suck your dick again, you will stop right now,”

 

“Fine,” Eliot grinned and Quentin wanted to kiss that stupid grin right off of him.

 

_ Focus.  _

 

_ Feelings now. Fucking later. _

 

“But you’re right, Bambi hasn’t said anything, so I guess they don’t know,” Eliot shrugged, opening up their pantry door and tossing Quentin one of Margo’s reusable tote bags.

 

“So, um,” Quentin bit his lip, and took a deep breath, trying to muscle through the icky feeling in his stomach that came with talking about anything that could be deemed as ‘uncomfy.’ 

 

“Do we wanna keep it that way this weekend?” Quentin’s eyes flicked around the room. “Just until we can talk things out?”

 

Eliot must have noticed Quentin’s shift in tone, because he stopped rifling through the pantry and gave his full attention (and the s’mores supplies) to Quentin. “Yeah, I think that’s a smart move, Q,”

 

“Great,” Quentin said, and Eliot nodded and went back to the pantry.

 

Quentin grimaced. He still had the icky feeling in his stomach. “But it’s just that..”

 

Eliot turned back to him with a raised eyebrow and a gentle smile. “Just tell me, Q,”

 

Wow, yeah, Quentin  _ really _ wanted to kiss him.

 

“I don’t want you to think that I’m like,  _ ashamed  _ of us, or hiding what we’ve got going on,” Quentin said, frowning and turning his attention to stuffing the bag of apples in with the rest of the food. “Like, it’s not that I _ don’t  _ want to tell them about us,”

 

Eliot nodded. “No, yeah, I get you, Q. It’s more like, we’re just keeping our private life  _ private _ until we decide that we wanna go public,”

 

“Okay, good, I just wanted to make sure I said that to you,” Quentin exhaled and leaned back against the counter. “And then, after we have that talk...”

 

“After we talk,” Eliot, repeated, forgetting the pantry and making his way to Quentin, “Then we can have  _ another _ talk about how and when we want to tell our friends,”

 

As he reached him, Eliot wrapped his hands around Quentin’s waist and pulled him closer. Quentin grinned up at him, and clasped his hands around the back of Eliot’s neck. Eliot had that look in his eyes that made Quentin’s knees weak, like he was about to devour Quentin whole. 

 

“Okay,” Quentin responded. “I can live with that,”

 

He could get used to them being like this together.

 

Like,  _ together _ together.

 

And he _really_ really wanted to kiss Eliot.

 

“Remind me...” Eliot drawled, pulling Quentin even closer and pursing his lips. 

 

Those stupid kissable lips.

 

“Why haven’t we had that talk yet?” Eliot asked as he leaned his head down and-

 

The front door banged open.

 

“BOYS!” Margos’s voice called, and they jumped apart like they'd been shocked. “MAMA’S HOME!”

 

“Right,” Eliot mumbled under his breath. “Because that keeps happening,”

 

As Margo strutted into the kitchen, Eliot began rifling through the fridge. Quentin grabbed their paper plates and paper towels from the cabinet under the counter and called out a: “Hey, Margo,” to their third roommate.

 

“I have officially taken my last midterm!” Margo put her hands on her hips, “And I’m ready to get my cabin on!”

 

“We’re almost done packing up,” Eliot said, gesturing to the bags.

 

“Good,” Margo nodded. “Kitty Cat, Julia and Kady will be here in half an hour, and then we hit the road. And my dad finally sent me the address for the cabin, despite the hassle,”

 

Eliot frowned. “Hassle? Everything okay?”

 

Margo rolled her eyes. “Yeah, my dad’s just an idiot. But I guess we’ll find out when we get there,” Eliot quirked an eyebrow, and Margo waved him off. “It’s fine, really, El. We will have a place to sleep this weekend, no matter what,”

 

“If you say so, Bambi,”

 

Quentin shrugged. “Well, I’ve just got a few things to pack up in my room and I’ll be good to go,”

 

Margo groaned. “I haven’t even  _ begun _ packing, I better go start,” She blew them both kisses and then made her way out of the kitchen and up the stairs. 

 

Eliot rolled his eyes at Margo, and turned back to their bags. “I’ll stay down here and finish the kitchen stuff. You go finish packing up your things,” 

 

“Thanks,” Quentin said, “You know what else we need to pack in the kitchen right? All the popcorn and our pots and-”

 

“Yes, Q,” Eliot turned towards him, a lazy smirk on his face, “I’ve got it. Now go finish packing,”

 

This was one of those moments that Quentin really wanted to just reach up and peck Eliot real quick, sweet and domestic, before leaving the room, in a perfectly normal way.

 

Well, also one of those moments that he wanted Eliot to shove him against the counter and do unholy things to him, in a very sexy way. 

 

But Margo was home now, and the No Touching Bubbles had gone up, so Quentin just rolled his eyes.

 

Well.

 

And also he smacked Eliot’s ass on the way out.

 

He couldn’t leave the room without doing  _ something _ .

 

Sue him.

 

The cabin was a six hour drive from Brakebills, which wasn’t terrible, because it meant that they all only had to drive about one hour each. It might have taken longer for them to pull over every hour and switch around the seating, but it also meant that every hour they had a new person picking music in the passenger seat and it kept their energy levels high.

 

They were like goofy teenagers, pulling over to the gas station every hour and scrambling to grab a new seat and grab snacks while doing it. And of course, Margo and Alice always wanted to sit next to each other, and Julia and Kady always wanted to sit next to each other, which meant that Quentin and Eliot always sat next to each other.

 

They mostly kept their hands to themselves, of course, being in the No Touching Bubbles and in the same SUV (Thanks, Marina) as their best friends and their lady lovers. But there was a lot of “accidental” bumping of knees and brushed hands and prolonged eye contact and sly grins. 

 

As much as Quentin was very much Very Over the sneaking around, there were times when it was a little hot.

 

Not that he’d ever admit that.

 

But the silent looks Eliot gave him while the two of them were sitting all the way in the back? And the way his hand brushed Quentin’s thigh while he was staring out the window? The way his hand pressed Quentin’s lower back as they were scrambling to get into the car again? 

 

It drove him nuts, in the fun kind of way.

 

He still wished that he could just lean over and kiss Eliot in front of everyone, though.

 

They drove through the mountains on a long windy road, singing along to the Rent soundtrack as the sun began to set. By the time they pulled up to their home for the next three days, pinks and lavenders cascaded across the sky. They also reflected onto the large lake, which was located at the bottom of wooden stairs that clamored from the back of the deck of their cabin and made their way to the lakeshore. The cabin, which was tall and rustic and had a deck that wrapped all the way around. 

 

“FALL BREAK, BITCHES!” Margo cheered as she got out of the car. The rest of the group whooped and hollered with her, their screams echoing throughout the woods surrounding them. 

 

“Let’s go check out the hot tub!” Kady said, tugging Julia by the hand.

 

The four girls ran into the cabin, leaving the two boys to unpack the car all by themselves.

 

Eliot rolled his eyes and smiled, elbowing Quentin as they opened up the trunk to begin unloading. “Come on, might as well get started,”

 

Eliot looked good in the sunset, with the natural glow of the warm colors lighting up his face. And despite the fact that they’d been in the car for six hours, he still looked...

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Eliot asked as he handed out Alice’s bright blue suitcase.

 

_ Perfect. _

 

“Because I want to kiss you,” slipped out of Quentin’s mouth before he could stop himself.

 

Eliot nearly dropped Julia’s duffle bag, and just about  _ blushed. _ “Is that so?” He asked.

 

Quentin slung Kady’s bag over his shoulder, and grinned. “It is so,”

 

Eliot raised an eyebrow, and stepped closer to him. “Then why don’t you?”

 

“MOTHERFUCKER!” Margo’s voice could be heard from outside the house.

 

“Right.” Eliot sighed. “Because  _ that _ keeps happening,”

 

Quentin rolled his eyes, and shut the trunk door. “We can get the rest of it later, let’s go see what Margo’s screaming about,”

 

It turns out, the little hassle she had mentioned earlier was indeed, a little hassle. Not anything catastrophic or life altering or truly terrible. But, it was going to affect their weekend a little bit.

 

Margo explained to them that originally, she’d asked her dad to help her find a cabin with six beds for the six of them. But, then she and Alice started dating, and she wanted to share a bed with her now-girlfriend. So, she’d called her dad and tried to move things around, but apparently that had somehow ended in an argument and confusion and a misunderstanding on Mr. Hanson’s part. So, there were no longer six beds for six individuals.

 

There were now three beds for three couples.

 

Margo ran a hand over her face. “My dad completely fucked it up. If you guys want, I can call him and try to fix it?”

 

Julia shook her head. “I think it’s okay, Margo, really. Kady and I are fine to share a bed,”

 

“Hell  _ yeah, _ we are,”

 

Margo then turned to Quentin and Eliot, who’d been silent. 

 

“What about you guys? Will you be fine to share one bed for the weekend?”

 

Quentin blinked.

 

Well.

 

Quentin and Eliot looked at each other.

 

Shit.

 

They looked back at Margo.

 

“Yeah, sure, not a problem,” He blurted out. 

 

“Of course, it’s totally fine,” Eliot nodded.

 

This was _not_ in their plan.

 

Margo sighed in relief, and grinned. “Thank goodness, I did  _ not  _ want to have to fight with my dad again. You guys are the best,”

 

“We sure are, Margo,”

 

“Yeah, Bambi, it’s totally cool,”

 

If Quentin could have face palmed then and there, he would have.

 

_ Damn it, Margo’s Dad.  _

 

Eliot cleared his throat and shuffled his feet.

 

_ You fucked the whole plan. _

 

And Margo practically beamed at them.

 

After exploring the whole cabin top to bottom and bringing in all of their shit from the SUV, they ate dinner while sitting around the dining room table and playing cards. Quentin was, surprisingly, the best at every single game they played, and won the entire pile of potato chips that they’d been betting on.

 

And after the sun set and a blanket of darkness covered the woods, they went stargazing.

 

The beach that wrapped around the lake was the perfect place for them to spread out their towels and blankets and settle into the silence and the sand. They could hear the wind rustling through the trees and the bugs chirping in the night and the lake lapping at the shore. 

 

The whole group laid on the beach in silence, Kady next to Julia and Julia next to Alice and Alice next to Margo and Margo next to Eliot and Eliot next to Quentin, who was on the very end of their little row. No words needed to be exchanged between any of them, just the steady breathing and chirping crickets as they stared up at the sky. And there, in the middle of nowhere, in the darkness, they could see the stars.

 

Quentin was sure he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. There were millions, dotting the darkness unlike anything he had ever seen before. He felt small, staring up into the endless starry night. And he felt his chest swelling to be in the presence of something so strikingly beautiful with the people he loved most.

 

Quentin saw a shooting star.

 

He made a wish.

 

He felt that swelling in his chest reach up to his throat, and without turning his head, without saying a word, he slowly inched his hand over and entwined his fingers in Eliot’s.

 

Out of the corner of Quentin’s eye, he saw Eliot turn his head towards him. Quentin didn’t turn to make eye contact, because he knew that if he did, he would be overwhelmed with the feeling of……  _ everything _ . And he didn’t know that he could stop himself from kissing Eliot then and there. So Eliot turned his head back to the stars and squeezed Quentin’s hand softly, running his thumb over Quentin’s in a way that made him woozy.

 

They watched the stars until they all craved to be laying in their own beds, and they all trudged back up to the cabin, calling their goodnights as they made their way to their rooms.

 

Alice and Margo took the room on the first floor, Kady and Julia took the room on the second floor, and Quentin and Eliot took the third room at the very top of the cabin. It was practically the attic, as the entirety of the third floor was their only room and a weirdly shaped bathroom that clearly hadn’t been in the original ground plan.

 

But it was far enough away from the other’s rooms that they couldn’t hear the soft kisses and muffled moans behind their locked door that night.

 

Quentin was actually pretty glad that Mr. Hanson had fucked up.

 

Not that he’d admit that out loud.

 

The morning brought a very excited Julia insisting on a group hiking trip. And the afternoon brought the sweet smell of barbecuing, as they grilled out on the back deck, resting their legs from the hiking. Eliot was their grill master, laughing with Margo and sending smiles in Quentin’s direction.

 

“How about tonight, we go skinny dipping?” Julia said from her position on Kady’s lap. “Under the light of the full moon?”

 

Kady’s eyes lit up. “Oh  _ hell _ yes. I’m so in,”

 

Margo, from her position curled up next to Alice, grinned. “I think that’s a great idea, but,” she sent a smirk in Eliot and Quentin’s direction, “Let’s make it a girl’s night. No boys allowed,”

 

Alice nodded. “Yeah, I agree. No offense, guys,”

 

Kady ran her hand up and down Julia’s arm, “I second that motion. No boys allowed,”

 

Eliot made a face. “No complaints from me. You couldn’t pay me to get in that nasty lake water,”

 

Julia grinned, and sent a questioning look in Quentin’s direction. “You cool with it, Q?”

 

Um.

 

A several hours with just him and Eliot in the cabin? 

 

By themselves?

 

With no one to interrupt them?

 

Yes, please.

 

“Yeah, fine with me,” he shrugged, and then threw a marshmallow at Eliot, “How do you feel about hot tub water, El?”

 

Eliot grinned. “Now,  _ that _ , Daddy likes,”

 

So when the girls made their way to the beach with their own towels and a bottle of wine in hand, Quentin and Eliot made out in the hot tub.

 

Quentin was on Eliot’s lap, straddling him and grinding into him while Eliot moaned into his mouth. Eliot ran his smooth hands up and down Quentin’s back and Quentin ran his fingers through Eliot’s hair. They were lit only by the tiki torches on the back deck, hidden from the lake by the tall trees, hidden from the rest of the world to where it was just each other.

 

And the hot tub. 

 

They kissed and kissed and kissed and kissed and kissed-

 

“Hey,” Eliot pulled back a little bit, breaking the kiss and breathing heavy. “You know what we could do while the girls are at the lake?”

 

Quentin wiggled his eyebrows. “Have really loud sex in the cabin?”

 

Eliot laughed, and shook his head. “Well, I was thinking...” He said, running his hands up and down Quentin’s thighs under the water. “Maybe we could have that talk?”

 

Oh. 

 

“Oh,” Quentin said.

 

Immediately, Eliot’s face shifted and he looked away as he tried to cover up his clear embarrassment. “I mean, it’s okay,” He cleared his throat, “We don’t have to have the talk right now. I know we said we were gonna wait until after fall break to have that talk, so I’d totally get it if you don’t want to have it right now, I was just looking at you tonight and it felt like a good time for it but-”

 

“ _ Eliot _ ,” Quentin grabbed the sides of his face and planting a solid and swift kiss on him. He pulled away from a star struck looking Eliot, and brushed the other man’s curls back with his hand, “What have I said about not letting me think before you keep talking?”

 

Eliot sheepishly buried his face in Quentin’s neck. “To not to,” He mumbled.

 

“Exactly,” Quentin hummed, running his fingers through Eliot’s hair and rubbing the back of his neck, holding the other man close.

 

“Sorry, think away,” Eliot mumbled into his skin, which kind of just felt like he was kissing Quentin’s neck, which kind of just turned him on.

 

_ Focus. _

 

_ Feelings now.  _

 

_ Fucking later. _

 

And if the feelings talk went well, there would be a  _ lot _ of fucking later.

 

Deep breaths, Coldwater.

 

“I’m totally on board for having the talk tonight,” Quentin pushed Eliot back so that he could look him in his eyes. “But we’re not having it in the hot tub,”

 

Eliot laughed and nodded, and did one more run of his hands up and down Quentin’s thighs.  “Yeah, that’s probably a good plan,”

 

So the pair climbed out of the hot tub, shut it off, blew out the torches and made their way up to their room to change into dry clothes. Well, really just dry underwear. It’s not like anyone else was home. 

 

“Is this a “sit and look at each other” kind of talk or....?” Eliot asked, standing near the edge of the bed, eyes darting around the room. 

 

“Yeah,” Quentin said, sitting on the bed and grabbing Eliot by the hand, tugging him closer. “I think it is,”

 

“Okay, “ Eliot said, shuffling around so that he was more comfortable. 

 

And then there was an awkward air between them.

 

“Do you... wanna go first?” Eliot asked, biting his lip.

 

Despite the fact that having this talk  _ right now  _ was Eliot’s idea in the first place, Quentin could feel Eliot’s nerves radiating off of him, in the way his eyes were flitting about the room and the way he was twiddling his thumbs and the way he was almost curled into himself. 

 

So, Quentin gently reached out and took Eliot’s hands into his own. 

 

This would go easier if they could onto each other. 

 

And Eliot gripped his hands like it was a lifeline.

 

“Yeah, I can go first, El. But I think…” he took a deep breath. “I think we have to get through the shitty part of the talk first,”

 

Eliot wouldn’t quite meet his eyes, but he was still squeezing Quentin’s hands and that was something, at least. “Yeah, okay,” He nodded. “I agree,”

 

“So, um,” Quentin bit his lip, and took a deep breath, trying to muscle through the icky feeling in his stomach. “When I came to Brakebills, I was hoping for a fresh start. Yale had sucked and I’d had shit luck with relationships, and um,  _ life _ , if I’m being honest. But, whatever, point being,” Quentin shook his head, “I found a home here at Brakebills, and you were a big part of that, El. And that’s important to me,”

 

Eliot was still looking down at his hands. 

 

Quentin figured that Eliot knew what was coming.

 

“But you really hurt me, El,” Quentin said, keeping his grip on Eliot’s hands firm, so that Eliot wouldn’t pull away from him.

 

Hell, so that Quentin  _ himself _ wouldn’t pull away from Eliot.

 

“All those weeks that we were fighting and you kept pushing me away and I didn’t know what I did wrong?” He sighed, “It took a toll on me. And, like, you  _ know  _ that I forgive you. And I’m not angry at you.  Anymore ,” Quentin bit his lip, “But it’s just something that we have to like,  _ acknowledge _ if we’re gonna move forward,”

 

Eliot met his eyes, and Quentin nodded to him, signaling that he was done.

 

Then Eliot nodded, and inhaled deeply. “I’m sorry, Q. For hurting you and for pushing you away,” He swallowed. “I was afraid. Of something real. And I was scared of how..... _ strongly _ I feel for you,” And then he laughed slightly, looking to the ceiling. “Well, that part still scares me,

 

The corners of Quentin’s mouth tugged upwards, and he squeezed Eliot’s hands.

 

“And I  _ really _ mean it, Q,” Eliot continued. “I’m sorry for how I reacted to everything. And I’m sorry for being an asshole. And I want a second chance to make things right, to  _ do  _ things right,”

 

“I want that, too,” Quentin affirmed. “And  _ I’m _ sorry, too, for how all of it went down. I know I wasn’t blameless in it. But, I....” He cleared his throat. “I  _ really _ care about you, Eliot. And I want to do  _ this,” _ Another squeeze of hands, “With  _ you _ . For  _ real _ ,”

 

A small smile tugged at Eliot’s lips, but he was still unsure. “Okay,” He nodded. “I want to say a bunch of stuff right now, if that’s okay?” His eyes were focused on their clasped hands. 

 

“Of course it is,”

 

“Okay, ready, here we go,” Eliot cleared his throat. “Feelings are hard for me, you know this. They get too overwhelming and I don’t quite know what to do with them. And I think part of that has to do with my dad? Or the fact that I never, like, properly learned how to handle having emotions?” Eliot shook his head, “But, whatever. Not important. Well, it is important, but not right now.” 

 

Quentin, seeing Eliot get away from himself, released his tight grip on Eliot’s hands and switched it to holding the arm that had gotten sliced, dancing one set of fingertips on Eliot’s palm and running the other set up and down his arm. 

 

Eliot seemed to relax under Quentin’s touch, and took a few deep breaths.

 

“Anyway,” Eliot continued, “for years now I’ve held the title of “The High King of Heartbreaks.” The guy you go to when you want casual sex or whatever and I’m just....” He sighed, “I’m tired of being  _ that _ guy. Because....” Eliot finally brought his eyes up to meet Quentin’s, “I have feelings for you, Quentin.  _ Real  _ feelings. And my natural instinct when I feel something  _ that _ deeply is to just....run away. Run away before it can hurt you. And I’m tired of running, Q.” Eliot watched Quentin’s fingers brush over his scar. “I want....” Another deep breath, “An actual relationship. With you.”

 

Quentin smiled, really and truly smiled. 

 

“So, that’s my feelings spiel that I’ve been rehearsing in the mirror for days,” Eliot said, trying to put a humorous spin on his tone. 

 

But Quentin could hear the truth in it.

 

And his heart fluttered.

 

“I appreciate you being honest,” Quentin said, “And for sharing with me,”

 

Eliot smiled graciously at him, which only made his heart beat faster. 

 

And Eliot was staring deeply at him, with warm eyes that made Quentin melt.

 

“So, I like, have a lot of feelings for you?” Quentin blurted out before he could stop himself and then  _ immediately _ blushed. “I didn’t rehearse my speech or anything, but uh,” He couldn’t help but smile softly, lacing his fingers through Eliot’s. “If I’m honest, I can’t even put words to everything that I feel for you,”

 

Quentin had never seen Eliot’s face look so soft before.

 

“And I want to be with you,” Quentin continued, “Like, be in a relationship with you. With all the ups and downs. As long as we do it, together, on the same side,” 

 

Eliot grinned. “The same side,” He nodded.

 

“Yeah,” Quentin confirmed, “ _ Our  _ side,”

 

There was a moment, just a brief moment, where there was a silence between them. Not an awkward silence or an uncomfortable one, but one where Quentin was so overwhelmed by his feelings for Eliot that he couldn’t actually bring himself to say anything. And he knew Eliot felt the same. 

 

Because, fucking finally, they were on the same page.

 

And when Eliot softly kissed him, he felt like there were fireworks exploding in his chest.

 

And when Eliot pulled away and smiled at him, pressing their foreheads together, it felt like they were the only people in the whole world.

 

Until they heard the girls come in from their lake trip and broke the spell. 

 

With bemused smiles, and a light feeling in the air, Quentin and Eliot got ready for bed.

 

Eliot used their bathroom first, doing his nightly routine and came out a couple of minutes later, leaving the door open for Quentin. He slipped into their bathroom to do his own night routine, washed his face and brushed his teeth and the works. And then he heard a soft knocking at the bathroom door. With a raised eyebrow, he opened the door, and saw Eliot.

 

Quentin raised an eyebrow, questioning the other man’s presence, but he still opened up the door wider, inviting him in. Eliot slipped into the bathroom, standing behind Quentin and staring into his eyes through the reflection in the bathroom mirror. 

 

Oh.

 

He  _ knew  _ that look.

 

Eliot inhaled.

 

Quentin nodded.

 

Quentin’s breath caught in his throat as Eliot moved his hair to the side and began planting soft kisses down the back of his neck. Eliot’s hands ran up and down Quentin’s shoulders and biceps and elbows and Quentin got weak in the knees. Eliot nipped at his neck while one of his hands ghosted down the front of Quentin’s torso, playing with the waistband of his boxers.

 

Quentin’s chest was filled with winged beasts.

 

He twisted his head back and caught Eliot’s lips with his own. It was a gentle kiss, with Eliot’s hand still trailing over Quentin’s stomach. It wasn’t the best angle for kissing, but one not unfamiliar to them, with Eliot pressed close behind him and a heat growing between them. 

 

Eliot twisted Quentin around so that he was pressed against the bathroom counter, able to brace himself with his hands against the countertops as Eliot pressed kisses down his torso, kissing his chest and his stomach and just above his waistband. Quentin moaned as Eliot kissed his way back up his body.

 

Eliot clearly intended on recapturing Quentin’s lips, but just before they made contact, Quentin pulled away, with a teasing smile. He pulled his lips out of Eliot’s grasp, but he pulled Eliot’s hand with him as he backed himself towards the bed, biting his lip. Eliot followed him, being pulled by the hand, his eyes raking up and down Quentin’s body. 

 

The winged beasts in Quentin’s chest went  _ wild. _

 

He moved backwards onto the bed until he reached the headboard, feeling the softness of the bed’s blankets and pillows underneath his skin, with Eliot crawling towards him with a look in his eyes that Quentin could lose himself in.

 

That look of....

 

_ Hunger. _

 

But there was something more with it tonight. It wasn’t just his normal look of wanting to devour Quentin whole. It was a look brought on by their talks this evening, Quentin knew it in his soul.

 

It was a look of....

 

A feeling they hadn’t put a name to yet.

 

But it was  _ everything. _

 

Eliot crawled on top of him, grinning as he pressed kisses up Quentin’s body and nipping at his collar bone. Quentin let his body become putty under Eliot’s touch, and his eyelids fluttered as Eliot left his mark, claiming Quentin for his own. He let Eliot press him into the mattress and run his hands all over him like he needed to feel Quentin’s skin to know that they were  _ alive. _

 

“How do you want me?” Eliot whispered into his ear, nipping at his earlobe. Quentin flushed. 

 

Warmth ached in his chest and rose up to his cheeks. 

 

Quentin pulled him back so that he could look Eliot in the eyes, so he could run his fingers through Eliot’s hair, so he could brush his thumb across Eliot’s cheek.

 

Eliot, Eliot, Eliot.

 

“I want to see you,” He whispered back.

 

Eliot smiled and kissed him again, tender and sure. 

 

They parted briefly for Eliot to grab the lube and for Quentin to grab a pillow to shove under his hips. 

 

But then they were back together again. 

 

Together with roaming hands across Eliot’s back.

 

Together with peppered kisses on Quentin’s jawline.

 

Together in the sense that they were  _ together. _

 

And that all of this meant something  _ more _ .

 

Quentin let out a breathy groan as Eliot slowly opened him up.

 

First, with one finger.

 

Eliot nipped at Quentin’s collarbone. 

 

Then, with two.

 

Quentin dug his nails into Eliot’s back. 

 

Then, with three.

 

Quentin’s head crashed back onto the pillows as Eliot’s slick fingers dipped deeper into him.

 

“El,  _ please _ ,” He begged, and Eliot grinned dazedly.

 

“Are you ready for me?” Eliot’s voice was low and went  _ straight _ to Quentin’s dick.

 

Quentin nodded furiously, and Eliot leaned down close.

 

“I’m gonna need more than that, Coldwater,” 

 

Quentin made a noise at the back of his throat. 

 

“El, I  _ need _ you to fuck me, _ ” _

 

Eliot kissed him again, and it was slow and deep. 

 

Quentin hooked his legs around Eliot’s waist and Eliot braced himself against the mattress.

 

And then he was slowly pressing into Quentin, sinking into him, filling him, kissing him.

 

Quentin moaned into Eliot’s mouth and Eliot bit Quentin’s lip.

 

Eliot was completely flush with him, completely inside him, completely consuming him

 

Quentin’s hands cupped the sides of Eliot’s face.

 

Eliot’s eyes searched Quentin’s.

 

Asking.

 

Quentin nodded.

 

Answering.

 

And then Eliot’s hips were rolling and he was thrusting and Quentin was making  _ unholy _ noises.

 

Eliot’s hands were clawing at Quentin’s hips and clawing at the sheets.

 

Quentin’s hands clutched Eliot’s neck and Eliot’s back.

 

Eliot whispered sweet nothings into Quentin’s ear.

 

Quentin’s moans and noises filled their room.

 

Alongside the sound of skin on skin.

 

They fell into a steady rhythm together.

 

They fell into each other.

 

Fuck, they’d _ fallen  _ for each other.

 

“ _ Fuck-” _

 

Quentin had  _ completely _ fallen for him.

 

“ _ Please-” _

 

He’d fallen slowly.

 

_ “Eliot-” _

 

But he’d  _ fallen _ for Eliot.

 

“ _ Q-” _

 

Always, Eliot.

 

Eliot

 

Eliot

 

Eliot

 

_ “El-” _

 

Quentin cried out.

 

He saw stars.

 

Quentin woke in the darkness.

 

And in his fuzzy morning brain, he could tell that he was alone in the bed. 

 

With a groggy hand, he reached out and felt around to the other half of the bed. It was still warm, so he lazily mumbled out an: “Eliot?”

 

“Hey, right here,” Eliot’s soft voice called out, and Quentin soon felt the smooth skin of Eliot’s torso slipping under his hand and arm until Quentin was able to snuggle back down into Eliot. “Sorry, had to pee. I was trying to be quiet about it,”

 

“Hmm,” Quentin nuzzled into Eliot’s neck. “Romantic,”

 

Eliot laughed, and trailed his hand up and down Quentin’s spine. “I do my best, Coldwater,”

 

Quentin lazily trailed his hand across Eliot’s chest, the sleepiness wearing off of him with every brush of Eliot’s hand and replacing it with electricity. “So last night was....” Quentin mumbled into Eliot’s neck, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. “....pretty cool,”

 

“Oh, now who’s the master of romance?” Eliot teased, and Quentin rolled his eyes.

 

“You know what I mean, jackass,”

 

Quentin could feel the vibrations in Eliot’s chest as he laughed. “I mean, are you referring to the talking or the sex? You gotta be more specific with these things, Quentin,”

 

Quentin propped himself up on his elbow, and lazily grinned down at Eliot. “You’re ridiculous,” He teased, with his hand still trailing across Eliot’s chest.

 

“Oh, yeah?” Eliot said, reaching up with his free hand and brushing Quentin’s hair back. “What are you gonna do about it?”

 

Well.

 

Quentin kissed him. 

 

It was a soft and gentle kiss, more chaste than anything. 

 

But it sure shut him up.

 

Quentin pulled away, and they smiled softly at each other in the darkness. 

 

“Also, yes to both to them,” Quentin said. “The sex and the talking. Both amazing,”

 

Eliot hummed, and wiggled his eyebrows. “Well, there’s more where that came from,” And he lightly pulled Quentin so that he was on top of Eliot, straddling his hips. “You think we’ve got time for-”

 

“BOYS!” Margo’s voice called from downstairs. “BREAKFAST IS READY,”

 

Quentin groaned, and collapsed onto Eliot’s chest. “I don’t  _ wanna _ get up,”

 

“I know, baby,” Eliot said, wrapping his arms around Quentin and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. 

 

Quentin’s head snapped up. “Did you just call me  _ baby _ ?”

 

Eliot  _ blushed  _ and looked at the ceiling. “Um, yes?”

 

Quentin’s face split into a wide grin. “Say it again,”

 

Eliot’s eyes snapped back to Quentin and his eyebrows sky rocketed. And then a smile spread across his face. 

 

“Baby,” he whispered.

 

Quentin kissed him.

 

“Baby,” Eliot breathed.

 

Quentin kissed his neck.

 

“Baby,” Eliot moaned.

 

Quentin kissed his chest.

 

“Baby,” Eliot whined.

 

Quentin kissed his stomach.

 

“ _ Baby,” _

 

Quentin kissed his-

 

“ELIOT! QUENTIN! HURRY UP!”

 

They both groaned. 

 

“Better face the Bambi, before she comes barreling up here,” Eliot grinned. Quentin groaned again, but allowed Eliot to sit up and push them both off the bed. Eliot flicked on the room’s light and they got dressed in a comfortable silence, with Quentin eyeing Eliot has he did the buttons on his shirt. Despite the fact that they’d literally just rolled out of bed, Eliot still looked...

 

Quentin’s chest fluttered.

 

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

 

Eliot finished his last button and looked up. He frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

Quentin bit his lip. “Because I want to kiss you,”

 

Eliot smirked. “You keep saying that, Coldwater,” He said, stepping into Quentin and pulling him closer by the belt loops. “It’s about time that you just shut up and do it,”

 

“No, I mean,” Quentin put a hand on Eliot’s chest, “I want to kiss you, like, in front of our friends,”

 

“Oh,” Eliot said, and a soft look replaced the horny one on his face. “Do you mean like, right now?”

 

Quentin nodded. “Yeah, I think so,”

 

“As in like, we tell them about  _ us _ , right now?”

 

Quentin played with the collar on Eliot’s shirt. “Only if you want to. And if you don’t want to, be honest and we’ll wait. And we can talk more about how to break it to everyone else later. But...” Quentin shrugged. “These are our best friends. And I don’t want to hide  _ us _ anymore,”

 

Eliot looked like he had just  _ melted _ . He nodded. “Then let’s go say good morning to them, yeah?”

 

Quentin’s chest swelled, and he nodded. Eliot pulled away from him to go to the door, and they exchanged a smile. 

 

A questioning smile on Quentin’s part, that read: “ _ Are you ready for this?” _

 

And an answering smile on Eliot’s face that read: ” _ Of course, I am,” _

 

The pair made their way out of their room and down the stairs and found the girls all gathered around the table on the back deck, with a whole spread of bacon and eggs and pancakes and fruit laid out for them to feast upon. When they entered, all four of their friends looked up at them.

 

“About damn time!” Margo said. “The food was getting cold!”

 

“Yeah,” Julia pointed a piece of bacon at them, “What took you guys so long?”

 

Quentin and Eliot looked at each other.

 

And then Eliot looked back at the table, grinning. “We have an announcement,” 

 

And Quentin kept his eyes on Eliot.

 

Always on Eliot.

 

Always, Eliot.

 

Always.

 

“Quentin and I are.....” Eliot turned back to him, searching his face, asking for help.

 

Quentin reached over and laced his fingers through Eliot’s, giving him a soft smile. 

 

“Together,” he answered simply. Because it was simple. 

 

He turned and gave that smile to their friends. “Eliot and I are together,”

 

All four of the girls were grinning widely.

 

“About damn time,” Kady rolled her eyes.

 

“Yeah, I’ve been betting on you guys for a while,” Alice smirked.

 

Margo and Julia clinked their glasses together, exchanging a sly smile.

 

Um.

 

Quentin was  _ definitely _ going to ask about that later.

 

“We’re very happy for you guys,” Julia turned her smile towards them.

 

“I second that,” Margo raised her glass to them, winking at Eliot. “You idiots deserve each other,”

 

A warm feeling rushed through Quentin, and he turned his head to see Eliot.

 

Eliot, who looked….

 

Eliot, who looked  _ perfect _ in the warm morning, shadows of the sunlight flickering through the trees and across his face.

 

Eliot, who was smiling at Quentin like he hung the moon, with those stupid lips of his.

 

Eliot, who was staring at Quentin with eyes  _ entirely _ too tender. They were soft and emotional and overwhelmed Quentin with a wave of......

 

Well.

 

_ Everything _ .

 

And Quentin  _ really _ wanted to kiss him.

 

“Oh, just  _ kiss _ already, you idiots,”

 

And so he did.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Act Four: Soft. :)


	18. The Julia Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt your regularly scheduled slow burn for a brief perspective from Julia.

“You guys did  _ WHAT _ ?”

 

Julia grinned playfully over her glass of wine at her best friend. 

 

It had been a couple weeks since Fall Break, and the two were curled up in Julia’s apartment, sharing a bottle of red wine.

 

“I mean, it really wasn’t that hard to do,” Julia teased. 

 

Quentin groaned and ran a hand over his face. “Jules, I cannot believe you and Margo sent my parents to the  _ Bahamas _ ,”

 

Julia smiled. “It was in the name of love!” 

 

Quentin made a face. “Okay, let’s not bring the L Word into it just yet,”

 

“Yeah, that show was terrible,”

 

“ _ Julia _ ,”

 

She grinned.

 

Quentin Coldwater had been her best friend for the last seven years and neither of them had actual siblings, so they just had each other. She was positive that he was her platonic soul mate and would be in her life for the rest of their lives.

 

Which meant that she could give him shit.

 

“Oh come on,” she nudged him with her foot from across the couch. “You know you loved it,”

 

“So wait, let me get this queer,” Quentin held up his hand, “There was never a six bedroom cabin?”

 

“God, no,” Julia shook her head. “Three bedroom “mistake” was always in the plan,”

 

“And the skinny dipping-“

 

“Also in the plan,” Julia grinned. “And I’d say it worked by your little _announcement_ the morning after,”

 

“Oh my god,”  Quentin groaned. “I can’t believe you guys planned that  _ whole _ thing,”

 

“You’re welcome,” Julia blew him a kiss, and he rolled his eyes. “I mean, you and Eliot have been a long time coming,”

 

Quentin blushed. “We weren’t  _ that _ obvious,”

 

Julia rolled her eyes. “It’s cute that you both thought you could hide it from me and Margo,”

 

Quentin took another swig of his wine. “How long have you suspected?”

 

“Since Eliot got sliced and you nearly lost your mind,”

 

“Oh,  _ God _ ,”

 

Julia shrugged. “But hey, it all worked out according to plan,”

 

Quentin rolled his eyes. “We would have gotten together with or without you guys,”

 

Julia pursed her lips. “Keep telling yourself that, Q,”

 

Quentin made a protesting noise, and Julia just laughed, and eventually Quentin joined in. Their tipsy giggles echoed throughout her apartment as she reached over and topped off their wine glasses.

 

Julia smiled at Quentin’s smile.

 

It was good to see him like this.

 

Like he was...

 

Happy.

 

“So,” Julia raised an eyebrow, “What is it like dating  _ the  _ Eliot Waugh?”

 

And the stupid  _ smitten _ grin on his face told her everything she needed to know before he even said a word.

 

“It’s pretty cool,” Quentin mumbled into his wine glass, trying to hide his grin in it. 

 

Julia swatted at him. “Come on, give me more than that, Coldwater,”

 

Quentin sighed, but not an exasperated or annoyed sigh. A Head Over Heels sigh.

 

“He’s sweet,” Quentin bit his lip, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards, “And he’s good to me,”

 

“And y’all have stopped fighting?” Julia quirked an eyebrow.

 

Quentin nodded. “Yes, we have. No fights at all,”

 

“Good,” Julia nodded. “I’m glad you guys have moved past that,”

 

“Me, too,” Quentin nodded. “That was all kind of a lot, but now it’s just cuddles and-“

 

“Getting dicked down,” Julia interjected.

 

Quentin nearly choked, and Julia laughed. 

 

And then he laughed.

 

“I mean,” he shrugged. “ _ That _ was already happening. Now there’s just some feelings behind it, I guess,”

 

Julia wiggled her eyebrows. “It sounds like there was already something behind you, Q,”

 

“Jesus, Jules,” Quentin laughed. 

 

“Sorry,” Julia giggled. “Couldn’t help myself,”

 

“Alright, enough about me and El,” Quentin waved his hand. “How’s it going with you and Kady?”

 

Oof.

 

Julia took a swig of her wine.

 

“We’re great,” she said, completely deadpan.

 

Quentin frowned. “Hold on-“

 

“What?” Julia looked at the ceiling.

 

“Julia-“

 

“Quentin,”

 

“What was that-“

 

“Nothing,”

 

“That wasn’t nothing-“

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

 

“Julia, I swear to God-“

 

“Don’t swear, Q, it’s unlady like,”

 

“ _ Julia _ ,”

 

She sighed. 

 

Not a love sick sigh.

 

An annoyed sigh. 

 

She looked down at her wine glass. “The sex is great,” She said. 

 

“But?” Quentin pressed.

 

“I don’t think she actually wants anything  _ more _ than the sex,” Julia said, taking a swig of her wine to avoid the look Quentin gave her.

 

“Have you asked her?” Quentin said.

 

Julia made a face. “You mean just asked her straight up if she wants more than sex?”

 

“I don’t know,” Quentin rolled his eyes, “but I think you just have to be as direct with possible with Kady. Don’t do that beat around the bush thing, cause it never works,”

 

Julia frowned. “When did you get to be the wise one?”

 

“Since I went through literally the same thing like, two weeks ago,”

 

Julia rolled her eyes.

 

Halloween was, miraculously, on a Saturday night.

 

The Halloween Party was, of course, hosted by the residents of the Cottage, and just before tech week.

 

Julia was ready to get her  _ drank _ on before she had to lead an entire costume crew on the most challenging show of the season. She was ready to down like, an  _ unholy _ amount of Eliot’s punch and dance like a maniac with her friends.

 

And maybe make out with Kady.

 

Well, hopefully do a little bit more with Kady.

 

Whether that meant talking or fucking,

 

Either was fine with her.

 

Julia, being best friends with the residents of the Cottage, went over early to help set up all the decorations. Quentin had texted her an  _ SOS _ earlier in the day, because apparently the three of them had bit off more than they could chew in terms of setting up and needed an extra pair of hands.

 

Margo was the one who answered the door, already in costume when Julia came a knocking. At least, Julia assumed it was her costume. Margo normally wore perfectly put together outfits with bright colors and a certain feminine style. But right now, she was wearing a very boring and bland gray and black tank top combination and zero makeup.

 

Julia quirked an eyebrow. “Are you-”

 

“Grace Park from season one of Battlestar Galactica, yes,” Margo put her hands on her hips. “We’re going absolutely feral tonight,”

 

“I like the way you think,” Julia grinned as she followed Margo into the house.

 

And then,

 

Julia nearly stopped in her tracks.

 

The place was practically  _ covered _ in Halloween decor. 

 

Orange and black streamers covered everything and every door way and so much of the ceiling that she could barely see it. And there were fake bats and fake spiders and just about any cheesy, stupid Halloween decor that you can think of. 

 

“Is that Hoolia?” Eliot called from the kitchen.

 

“It is me!” Julia said, following the sound of his voice. 

 

“Oh, thank all that is holy,” Eliot said, and Julia rounded the corner to see

 

Eliot

 

In 

 

a Dr. Frank-N-Furter costume. 

 

Well

 

without the makeup.

 

But the physical costume? 

 

Of leather and lace?

 

Oh, yeah.

 

That was  _ all  _ there.

 

Eliot grabbed her by the hand and dragged her over to the kitchen table, which had more piles of decor on it. “I still have to do my makeup and we’re less than an hour out till the party. Can you put the rest of this up?”

 

“Yeah, of course, El,” Julia said. “Where do you want it to go?”

 

“I don’t care,” Eliot called over his shoulder as he hustled towards the stairs.

 

Julia raised an eyebrow at Margo, who was currently setting up the lights. “What’s with the chaos of getting this party set up?”

 

Margo shrugged. “The three of us carpooled to rehearsal today, and our dick of a stage manager made the ASMs stay long after for some bullshit,” Margo tossed Julia the roll of tape, “And Alice isn’t coming until closer to midnight, so you’re on decorating duty,” She said, and then returned to hanging up the purple lights left over from the Dionysus Party.

 

Julia shrugged and got to work, hanging up the paper pumpkins and the “Witches Welcome” sign and even more streamers ( _ seriously, where the fuck did they get all these streamers) _ and was just setting up the fake spider webs when she heard clunking down the stairs and saw

 

Quentin

 

In

 

Gold Booty Shorts.

 

That was it. 

 

Just the booty shorts.

 

Gold ones.

 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Julia said, and Quentin grinned.

 

“Like what you see?” He asked, holding out his arms.

 

Julia rolled her eyes. “Did you guys  _ seriously _ do a Rocky Horror Picture Show couple’s costume? Dr. Frank-N-Furter and Rocky?” Quentin simply grinned at her, and she groaned. “You two are sickening,”

 

“Hey, at least we’re both wearing a sexy gold costume,” Quentin said, gesturing to Julia’s costume. Because Julia was dressed as...

 

Well.

 

She was dressed as Slutty Belle.

 

Yes, like Princess Belle.

 

But, like.

 

Slutty.

 

“Belle is my favorite princess,” Julia tried to protest, but Quentin just shook his head.

 

“No, I love it,” And then he wiggled his eyebrows. “And I bet Kady’s gonna love it, too,”

 

Julia smacked him with the fake spider webs.

 

Kady did, in fact, love it. 

 

The second she walked into the party, her jaw dropped.

 

And so did Julia’s.

 

She didn’t  _ exactly _ know what Kady was dressed as.

 

But Kady was wearing a 

 

_ -very sexy- _

 

gold and red sequence dress that looked like it probably belonged at a burlesque show. 

 

And she was wearing satin gloves that went up past her elbows. 

 

And a heavy looking necklace around her neck. 

 

And her curls were up in a  _ glorious _ bun.

 

And Julia had never wanted to be shoved against the wall and kissed so badly in her  _ life. _

 

“Well,  _ hello _ , Belle,” Kady fucking  _ purred _ as she approached the other woman.

 

“You like what you see?” Julia twirled.

 

Kady pulled Julia closer to her by the waist and bit her lip, staring Julia down with dark eyes,  “I think you’re gonna get lucky tonight, princess,” 

 

Julia bit her lip, also. “Well, I was kind of hoping that-”

 

“ATTENTION, WITCHES AND BITCHES!” Margo’s voice interrupted them as she stood up on the coffee table, gathering the attention of everyone in the room.

 

Margo Translation: “Hello, my dear friends whom I’ve invited into my home,”

 

“THE WITCHING HOUR IS APPROACHING!”

 

Margo Translation: “It’s almost midnight. Things seem to be getting really exciting,”

 

“IT’S TIME TO GET  _ CRUNK _ !”

 

Margo Translation: “Everyone, have another drink! Let us celebrate this spooky night,”

 

The whole house cheered.

 

Julia smiled at Kady. “I’ll go get us some punch,” She said as she pulled away.

 

Kady tapped her ass as she left, grinning excitedly.

 

And so they followed Margo’s orders and got

 

Absolutely 

 

_ Crunk. _

 

Eliot had made the punch extra strong for Halloween  _ (and for not having rehearsal in the morning _ ) so it really only took a cup and a half of punch for Julia to feel like she was pleasantly and perfectly drunk.

 

Or, rather,

 

Crunk.

 

And everyone else was pretty wasted, too.

 

Penny (who wasn’t in costume because “I’m not gonna be someone I’m not. I’m only ever gonna be The Penny,”) was stupidly flailing to the Monster Mash with Kady and Josh (who was dressed like Shaggy from Scooby Doo) and it was the funniest thing Julia had ever seen.

 

Fen (who was dressed as a non slutty bunny) was laughing hysterically at everything Marina (who was dressed as a slutty witch) said, as Marina was enthusiastically telling a story to a group of underclassmen theatre majors.

 

Margo was once again, standing on a table, loudly saying whatever stream of consciousness was going through her brain. That was kind of her Drunk Thing.

 

And Alice, who had arrived at midnight dressed as a beautiful (and non slutty) Cinderella, was eating cheese puffs right out of the jar and attentively listening to everything Margo was saying.

 

And Quentin and Eliot

 

were 

 

_ hardcore _

 

making out in the kitchen.

 

Quentin, the short motherfucker that he was, was sitting on the counter.

 

And Eliot, the tall motherfucker that he was, was nestled right in between Quentin’s legs that were hanging off the counter and had a hand in Quentin’s hair and the pair-

 

Well.

 

The Couple

 

were kissing like....

 

God, they were kissing like horny teenagers at a Rocky Horror Picture Show cast party.

 

But honestly?

 

It kind of made Julia feel warm and fuzzy on the inside to see them be a couple  _ publicly. _

 

All night they’d been giving each other lovey-dovey looks and leaning into each other and pressing kisses to temples and cheeks and holding hands and it was  _ stupid _ cute.

 

But maybe the warm and fuzzy feeling was from the alcohol.

 

Or from the strong and satin arms that just wrapped around her waist.

 

Kady.

 

“Wanna get out of here?” 

 

Kady whispered in her ear.

 

Shivers went down her spine.

 

A deep blush crept up her neck.

 

And she practically dragged Kady out of the house.

 

She would have stopped to say goodbye to Quentin and Eliot.

 

But they were still making out. 

 

And she would have said goodbye to Margo and Alice.

 

But Margo was still lecturing the room about why women shaving their legs was caused by greedy capitalists during the Great Depression, with Alice hanging onto every word.

 

So no one really noticed when she and Kady slipped out the front door.

 

And then made out in the backseat of Kady’s car.

 

Julia in Kady’s lap.

 

Kissing each other senseless and hands pulling at clothes and hair.

 

And, well,

 

Even though they were making out,

 

Which was great.

 

Like

 

Really great.

 

Julia’s head wasn’t really in it.

 

Because she kept thinking about Quentin.

 

Well,

 

Not like,

 

_ Thinking about Quentin. _

 

But

 

Thinking about what Quentin had said.

 

_ “Have you asked her?”  _ He’d said.

 

And he said to just be direct.

 

Don’t beat around the bush.

 

So 

 

Julia pulled away from Kady and before she lost her courage, blurted out:

 

“Do you wanna be my girlfriend?”

 

Kady blinked in surprise.

 

“Because, I wanna be your girlfriend,” Julia blurted out again.

 

Kady raised her eyebrows.

 

“I wanna be girlfriends,” Julia said, trying to sound more confident.

 

Kady inhaled.

 

“So, uh, do you wanna be girlfriends?”

 

Kady exhaled.

 

“Please say something,”

 

“You....you wanna be my girlfriend?” Kady asked, in a tone that Jula could absolutely not read.

 

“Yes,” She said.

 

“Oh,” Kady responded.

 

Jesus Fuck.

 

Don’t beat around the bush.

 

“Do you wanna be girlfriends?” Julia asked again.

 

And then

 

A soft smile crept up Kady’s face, slowly forming in the darkness of the backseat. She ran her hands up and down Julia’s back, sending electricity through her fingertips.

 

“Yes,” Kady  _ finally _ answered. “I wanna be girlfriends,”

 

Julia exhaled and grinned widely. “Was that so hard?” she teased.

 

Kady rolled her eyes and smiled, but then she looked down. “I just.... didn’t think that you felt that way about me,”

 

Oof.

 

Julia cupped the sides of Kady’s face and brought her eyes back up to meet hers. “I’m sorry if I made you think that,” Julia said. “But I really  _ really _ like you and you’re really pretty and smart and good with power tools and I wanna be your girlfriend,”

 

Okay. 

 

So, she was still a little drunk.

 

Crunk.

 

But they could have a more detailed talk about everything later. 

 

But Kady,

 

Who was also still a little crunk,

 

Giggled and grinned.

 

“You’re too good for me,” she sighed.

 

But it wasn’t an annoyed sigh, or a self pitying statement.

 

It was

 

A lovesick sigh.

 

With a soft smile and lovey-dovey eyes.

 

So Julia grinned right back and leaned down and kissed her.

 

Her girlfriend.

 

Belle did, indeed, get lucky that night.

 

And when she told Quentin about it the next day, he said:

 

“You guys did  _ WHAT?” _


	19. Tech (Reprise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, to Eliot.

Quentin was keeping a secret.

 

Holding it close to his chest.

 

Stubbornly hiding it from the world.

 

And Eliot was  _ fucking  _ on to him.

 

Eliot was proud to say that he knew his..... 

 

roommate/partner/theyhadntofficiallydeclaredthemselvesasboyfriendsyet 

 

....like the back of his hand. He  _ knew  _ when Quentin was trying to hide something. He could  _ see _ the look in his eyes when he delivered his boldfaced lie to Eliot’s face.

 

And it’s not like Quentin was  _ even _ a good actor.

 

And it’s not like this was an easy secret to keep.

 

Because Quentin was  _ fucking _ sick!

 

He was sick!

 

And trying to hide it!

 

Like an idiot!

 

He’d started sniffling and sneezing days ago, claiming that it was “allergies” again. 

 

But then he started coughing. And then he started wheezing. And then he couldn’t stand for long periods at a time. And he was having trouble remembering things. And he was going through a box of tissues a day. And he kept complaining about his head hurting.

 

And he wouldn’t fucking admit that he was sick!

 

“I’m  _ fine _ , Eliot,” Quentin grumbled, reaching for the box of tissues.

 

“Quentin Coldwater, it is  _ tech  _ week,” Eliot huffed. “And you are not  _ fine,” _

 

Currently, they were on a ten minute break on the second day of tech for Christmas Carol, and Quentin was sitting at the stage management station backstage, leaning heavily against the wall. Eliot had been his way back to the Green Room when he’d seen his…...uh…….. 

 

He’d seen  _ Quentin _ looking like he was about to pass out.

 

“I’m telling you, it’s just allergies,” Quentin blew his nose.

 

Eliot rolled his eyes. “It’s not and you know it. And you’re making yourself worse by pushing yourself instead of  _ resting _ ,”

 

“Margo says that I’m fine,” Quentin crossed his arms.

 

Eliot narrowed his eyes. “Margo’s been too busy picking up your  _ slack _ to properly pay attention to how sick you’ve gotten,”

 

Quentin pouted. 

 

He  _ actually _ pouted!

 

“You’re being  _ mean _ , El,”

 

“No, this is tough love, baby,” Eliot crossed his arms and hoping that Quentin was too sick to notice the use of the L word, no matter the context. “You need to go home, Q,”

 

Quentin scowled. “You can’t make me,”

 

“What are you, twelve?” Eliot rolled his eyes, “And fine, maybe I can’t, but I know who can,” Eliot said, turning away to go back to the Green Room.

 

“Eliot Waugh, don’t you  _ dare _ ,” Quentin feebly called out to Eliot’s retreating form. 

 

“You’ve left me no choice, Q,” Eliot called over his shoulder. “You’ve brought this upon yourself!”

 

Two minutes later, Julia was dragging Quentin out of the theatre by the ear and to her car, chewing his head off about self care and not infecting the rest of the company with his sickness.

 

And five minutes after that, a frantic looking Margo came rushing up to Eliot. 

 

“Where the  _ hell _ is Quentin?” She hissed.

 

Eliot raised an eyebrow. “Julia just took him home. Did Kady not tell you?”

 

“He went  _ home _ ? It’s fucking tech week!” Margo growled.

 

“Margo, he’s  _ sick,”  _ Eliot frowned.

 

“Well how the fuck are we gonna do the show without our third ASM?” Margo put her hands on her hips.

 

Eliot crossed his arms. “Kady’s calling Fen right now to see if she can step in,”

 

“And no one fucking told me?!”

 

“ _ Margo _ ,” Eliot clenched his jaw, staring down his best friend. 

 

She threw her hands up. “I’m carrying the weight of the show here, Eliot!”

 

“And my, um-  _ our _ roommate looked like he was about hurl and then probably pass out,” He bit out. “So Julia’s taking him to the cottage, and then she’s gonna come back to do her job. Fen will show up and fill in for Q, which will be fine because your paperwork is immaculate. And you’re gonna take your bitchy levels down by two hundred percent, because you’re not helping yourself at all by being an asshole to everyone,”

 

Margo huffed. 

 

And looked down. 

 

And held out her arms. 

 

Eliot rolled his eyes and pulled her into a hug, kissing the top of her head.

 

He knew his Bambi well enough to know that she was stressed out the ass and needed a swift kick  _ to _ the ass. And she probably also needed to eat something. And he knew that if she would pause for five seconds, she could slow down and actually process. So he hugged her tightly and silently until she pulled away from him and sniffled, nodding.

 

“I’m gonna go get some fucking fruit snacks,” Margo wiped her eyes, and moved past Eliot to go to the Green Room.

 

Eliot sighed.

 

Eliot wasn’t necessarily a superstitious person, but he absolutely did believe that the planets had an effect on people in real time.

 

Because right now Quentin was sick and cranky.

 

Julia was one misstep away from going full feral.

 

Kady had a crying breakdown a couple days ago.

 

Margo and Alice had gotten in a really big fight recently.

 

Fen’s anxiety levels had been going through the roof.

 

And once again, for emphasis, his…..

 

_ Special someone? _

 

God, that was terrible.

 

_Quentin_ was sick and miserable and there was nothing Eliot could do to help.

 

And he hated it.

 

He didn’t know what planet he had to pick a fight with for sweeping through the people he lov-

 

Uh.

 

-cared about most, but  _ something _ was fucking with all of them.

 

He’d have to ask Julia about that later. She was into the astrology stuff.

 

He tried to not spend the rest of the night staring at the clock and worrying too much. The hours seemed to tick by at a snail's pace, with his chest aching to go home and check on Quentin.

 

He was sure that Quentin was fine on his own because he was a grown up.

 

But... 

 

Eliot wanted to _be there_ with him.

 

Knowing that Quentin was sick, all by himself in their house, made Eliot feel his own kind of icky.

 

And honestly, Eliot wasn’t quite used to even being able to  _ acknowledge  _ all of his feelings.

 

And he couldn’t exactly say to his director: “Sorry that I just skipped a chunk of the text. The guy who is technically my boyfriend, even though we haven’t used the B Word yet, is at home and he’s sick and I want nothing more than to rush home and spoon him, which is kind of weird for me because I’ve never wanted to spoon anyone before in my life. So I'm having a little bit of a hard time focusing right now,”

 

So instead he said. “Sorry, my bad. Where are we taking it back from?”

 

When they did finish teaching for the night, he couldn’t get out of costume fast enough. He barely waved goodbye to Julia and Kady in the Green Room before he was driving back to the Cottage, pushing the speed limit. 

 

And when he did get home, Quentin was passed out on the couch in the living room underneath his favorite blanket and a half drank cup of tea next to him.

 

Eliot’s breath caught in his throat.

 

Yeah, Quentin looked sick and gross, but asleep he looked…

 

Peaceful.

 

Innocent.

 

Beautiful.

 

And Eliot _ached_ for him.

 

He kneeled next to Quentin.

 

“Q,” he whispered, lightly touching Quentin’s arm. “Q, we should get you to bed,”

 

Quentin slowly opened his eyes. “Don’t wanna move,” he grumbled.

 

Oh,  _ baby. _

 

Eliot smiled softly. 

 

“Come on, Q you gotta get up,”

 

Quentin ran a hand over his face and softly mumbled: “El, I don’t feel good and I don’t like it,”

 

_ Oof. _

 

The ache intensified.

 

“I know, baby,” Eliot brushed Quentin’s hair back and out of his face. “But your own bed will make you feel better, okay?”

 

Quentin almost looked like he was trying not to  _ cry.  _

 

He nodded and mumbled out a very pathetic:

 

“Okay, El,” 

 

Oh.

 

Eliot would fight the heavens.

 

He’d fight the stars.

 

He’d fight the planets.

 

He’d fight the sun.

 

He’d fight the moon.

 

Eliot would fight the entire _ universe _ if it would make Quentin feel better.

 

But that was physically impossible, or whatever.

 

So instead, Eliot helped escort Quentin up to his room. He made Quentin drink some more water before guiding him to his bed. Quentin moaned and grumbled as he settled into his pillows, and Eliot pulled the covers up over his…… significant other?

 

Eliot pulled the covers up over Quentin’s shoulders and the other man instantly fell asleep. 

 

And Eliot most certainly did NOT perch on the edge of the bed and tenderly brush Quentin’s hair back while watching his chest rise and fall softly for an extended period of time, trying to better understand all the bubbling feelings in his chest before he slipped out of the room to let Quentin rest.

 

And he would NOT admit that it was weird to sleep without Quentin curled into his side.

 

Except.

 

It  _ was _ weird. 

 

All night, he was unconsciously reaching across his own bed to draw closer the warm body that wasn’t there. 

 

The next day, he went to the store after his classes and before tech to pick up some medicine and food and other sick necessities.

 

But as he was going through the checkout, the cashier eyed all he was buying and gave him a playful smile. 

 

“Uh oh,” the older lady commented. “Looks like someone’s getting sick,”

 

“Oh, no,” Eliot smiled and shook his head, “Not me, it’s for my-“

 

Ugh.

 

He and Quentin still hadn’t put any kind of label to their relationship. And until they did, what the hell did he tell  _ other _ people their relationship was? And even if he did say “my boyfriend” or “my partner” could he risk this stranger giving him the Homophobic Side Eye that made him queasy? He wasn’t in the mood to deal with that kind of interaction.

 

“-my roommate,” Eliot settled with something safe. “My roommate is sick,”

 

The lady smiled brightly at him. “Oh, well aren’t you the sweetest?” She cooed as she handed him his receipt.

 

Quentin certainly agreed.

 

When Eliot came into his room with a steaming bowl of homemade chicken noodle soup with fresh ingredients, Quentin made a face like he just  _ melted _ right into his pillows.

 

“Eliot, you  _ didn’t _ ,” Quentin said, accepting the bowl of soup. “You’re literally the sweetest.”

 

And then Quentin paused, and raised an eyebrow. 

 

He’d just eyed the  _ other _ thing Eliot had bought at the store and brought into the room. 

 

“Is that a fucking  _ teddy bear _ ?”

 

“Um, yes?” 

 

It wasn’t like, a big teddy bear. Only a little bit bigger than his hand. But it was a classic brown teddy bear with a little rainbow ribbon tied around its neck, and Eliot had grabbed it on an impulse when he’d walked by it in the store. 

 

“Well; I just-“ Eliot looked down at the bear. “You’ve been banned from tech till you’re better and I have to be at tech, and, um….” 

 

“Eliot  _ Waugh _ ,” Quentin said, “Did you get me a teddy bear to cuddle with while you’re not here?”

 

“Mayhaps,”

 

“ _ Eliot,” _

 

Eliot let his eyes flick up to Quentin, who was giving him the softest fucking smile he’d ever seen in his entire fucking life. “If I wasn’t worried about infecting you, I would totally kiss you,”

 

Eliot did NOT blush because he was Eliot  _ Freaking _ Waugh and he did not do those things.

 

Except.

 

He _totally_ did. 

 

Quentin was determined to get better before the 10/12 on Saturday so that he could be there for their first run through and wouldn’t be completely lost when he was supposed to be leading the backstage through the chaos.

 

Which meant that Quentin spent all of Thursday and Friday skipping his classes and laying in bed. Eliot, despite Margo’s warnings about both of them getting sick, tended to sick little Quentin. And he was genuinely improving.

 

Eliot didn’t really know much about how sicknesses worked, so he just pretended that it was his care and....uh....  _ care _ that was making Quentin better. He’d gone down to only part of a box of tissues every day and he said that he no longer felt like “everything was spinny and vomit inducing,” Which was a nice adjustment.

 

And in the last two nights, when Eliot got home from tech, he’d come home to find Quentin softly sleeping in his bed with his teddy bear clutched tightly to his chest.

 

Which was just...

 

A Lot.

 

Emotionally.

 

For Eliot.

 

In the Good Way!

 

But it was still a Lot.

 

But, by the time they hit the 10/12, Quentin was back on his feet and ready to take on Victorian London. He wasn’t at 100%, but he wasn’t contagious and could stand on two feet, which meant he was back in the game.

 

And Eliot was relieved.

 

Not just that Quentin was feeling better but that he was back in the Chatwin Theatre.

 

By Eliot’s side, physically and emotionally.

 

Making shitty jokes and helping him navigate the backstage darkness.

 

Being there to drink tea with Eliot on the breaks.

 

And so far, the 10/12 was going well. The morning had been successful and they were now in the evening portion of the day, which is when they had their first dress.

 

Dress meaning that they ran the whole show, top to bottom, in costume, with all of the lights and sounds and flying set pieces and slip stages and the trap set pieces.

 

The slip stages and the trap were probably Eliot’s favorite part of the show, tech wise. 

 

Scrooge’s Bed came up out of the floor (from the trap) at center stage, and at downstage right, part of the stage rolled away (hence the slip stage name) for them to dump Scrooge’s body at the end and for Marley to rise up out of at the very beginning. And Eliot was just a sucker for cool moving parts like that. He wasn’t a tech person, but he sure appreciated it.

 

And so far, Dress was going well. 

 

His costume fit perfectly.

 

Quentin was smiling.

 

He was nailing all of his notes in the songs.

 

Margo wasn’t being cranky.

 

And he’d managed to do the entire Breakup Scene without crying.

 

At intermission, he ate a cookie.

 

Act two started in Scrooge’s bedroom, and then the whole ensemble came onstage to sing “Good Christian Men Rejoice,” as Scrooge’s bed slipped down into the floor.

 

And Eliot was feeling  _ good. _

 

He was feeling the spirit of  _ Christmas _ !

 

He was happy to be on stage!

 

He was-

 

Falling.

 

All the air sucked out of him as the floor went out from underneath him.

 

He heard his name be shouted and he squeezed his eyes shut.

 

He hit something soft.

 

He heard someone shout for a hold.

 

He opened his eyes.

 

He was......

 

Fine.

 

He’d landed on Scrooge’s Bed.

 

Not a scratch or bump on him.

 

He looked up to see that he had, indeed, fallen through the hole on the stage as they were lowering Scrooge’s bed. The lift had stopped halfway down, and he could see a crowd of people standing above him, staring down at him with worried looks.

 

He saw his cast mates and Margo and Kady and Julia but..... no Quentin.

 

“Eliot!” A voice called from deep within the trap.

 

Oh.

 

Eliot turned his head to see Quentin dashing through the underground of the Chatwin Theatre and towards him with a frantic look on his face. 

 

Which meant that the second he’d seen Eliot fall, Quentin must have sprinted towards the trap stairs so he could be down there when Eliot landed.

 

And Eliot knew that this was technically supposed to be a very serious moment where his dumb ass fell through the literal hole in the stage in the middle of their 10/12 Dress.

 

But.

 

Quentin was running towards him like he was Eliot’s knight in shining armor.

 

And his heart fluttered.

 

“ _ Eliot! _ ” Quentin called again, and Eliot waved his hand nonchalantly.

 

“I’m okay, Q. I promise,” Eliot sat up on the bed and held out his arms to prove his point. “All in one piece and everything,”

 

Quentin still had a frantic look on his face, but he turned do the lift operator. “Take the bed all the way down,” He commanded.

 

And Eliot tried not to get turned on by that.

 

It was almost comical how, despite the fact that he’d fallen through a hole in the middle of the stage, he felt fine. He’d fallen right on the soft bed and it had really only been a drop of a couple feet. It was a little embarrassing, but at least he hadn’t sliced his arm completely open again.

 

But as the bed completely lowered to its trap position, Quentin’s eyes were filled with panic. 

 

Quentin was almost  _ antsy, _ his eyes dating all over Eliot to confirm that, yes, he was in one piece. And the  _ second _ the bed locked into place, Quentin was rushing towards him and pulling him into a tight hug. 

 

Eliot didn’t even care that the angle was awkward because he was still on the bed and he didn’t even care that everyone was still probably staring down into the hole and he didn’t even care that really, this was not a big deal and didn’t warrant an overdramatic hug.

 

Instead, he sunk into the hug and exhaled.

 

“Stop  _ fucking _ doing that,” Quentin mumbled in his ear.

 

Eliot laughed. “What, getting hurt at rehearsal?”

 

“Fucking  _ yes,” _

 

Eliot pulled out of the hug and gave Quentin a warm smile. “I’m  _ fine, _ Quentin,”

 

Quentin huffed. “First I get sick and then you fall through the floor? We just can’t seem to catch a break, huh?”

 

“Are you two done having your fucking moment?” Both of their heads snapped up to see Margo staring down at them with crossed arms. 

 

Eliot grinned as Quentin mumbled out: “Yes, Margo,”

 

“Good. Both of you get your asses up here,” Margo said, “We gotta go back to the top of the act,”

 

Eliot rolled his eyes and let Quentin help him off the bed, and both of them made their way out of the trap room and to the hallway towards the stairs, exchanging relieved and soft looks in the dark light of the Chatwin Theatre underground.

 

That night, they slept in the same bed again.

 

Eliot, as per usual, got ready for bed first, using their shared bathroom and crawling under his covers while he heard Quentin brushing his teeth. And in the silence of his room, while he waited for his....

 

Person?

 

Ugh.

 

While he waited for Quentin to finish up and come to bed, Eliot did the one thing he was still learning how to do.

 

He thought about his feelings.

 

He thought and he thought and he thought.

 

And his stomach flipped and flopped.

 

And then Quentin came in, shutting the door behind him.

 

And Eliot blurted out: “So, what are we?”

 

Quentin blinked.

 

And Eliot waited.

 

He saw the wheels in Quentin’s head turning.

 

“I think I’m actually gonna need more information before I respond this time, El,”

 

“Like, we’re  _ together _ .” Eliot bit his lip, “And like,  _ dating _ . But like what  _ are _ we? Like what word should I use when I talk about us being an  _ us _ ?” He said, fighting the urge to look at his hands and away from Quentin’s eyes. But Quentin’s eyes were almost.... delighted?

 

“Eliot  _ Waugh, _ ” Quentin said. “Are you trying to start a feelings conversation right now?”

 

“Mayhaps,”

 

Quentin smiled, and Eliot felt the weight on his chest lift.

 

Quentin crossed the room to crawl under the covers, laying on his side and facing Eliot. “Okay, then let’s unpack this and make it simple,” He said, reaching across the bed and gently lacing his fingers with Eliot’s. 

 

And a different feeling replaced the anxious weight in his chest, one of warmth and comfort.

 

“Well, we’re together,” Quentin affirmed.

 

“Yeah,” Eliot nodded.

 

“So, we’re dating,” 

 

“Yes,”

 

“And, I’d like to think of us as partners,”

 

“Absolutely,”

 

“And I guess you’re kind of my significant other,”

 

“Sure,”

 

“So, I think that makes us boyfriends,”

 

Oh.

 

Quentin said the B Word.

 

He said it!

 

He said the B Word!

 

About them!

 

That they  _ were _ the B word!

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Quentin quirked an eyebrow.

 

Eliot tried not to sound like a giddy idiot when he said: “We’re  _ boyfriends,” _

 

Quentin simply smiled and kissed him, softly and surely.

 

Eliot placed a delicate hand on the back of Quentin’s neck and kissed him deeper.

 

Pulled him closer.

 

They broke apart and smiled at each other, pressing their foreheads together.

 

Eliot wrapped his arms around his....

 

His  _ boyfriend _

 

And Quentin nestled into his neck.

 

“Is there anything else you need me to clarify before we go to sleep?” Quentin said, but his tone was all teasing, and Eliot kissed the top of Quentin’s head.

 

Well.

 

There was one more question that he wanted to ask.

 

“No, I think I’m good,” He laughed.

 

But it wasn’t the right time for such a question.

 

“Alright, then I think Feelings Time is over and now it’s sleep time,” Quentin yawned.

 

And honestly, it was a question he didn’t even have an answer to.

 

“Alright, good night, Q,”

 

Or rather, he wasn’t sure he was ready to give such an answer.

 

“Good night, El,”

 

And therefore, it wouldn’t be fair for him to ask Quentin such a question.

 

Quentin fell asleep in minutes, his breath evening out.

 

And honestly, Eliot just needed more time. More time with Quentin in his arms. 

 

Sleep tugged at Eliot with a heavy hand.

 

Time to come up with his own answer before he could even think to ask Quentin:

 

_ “Do you love me?” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know the falling thing seems like a metaphor BUT IT WAS A REAL THING THAT HAPPENED. But it was our Scrooge that fell and landed on the bed and it was performance, and not tech. Also literally every Christmas Carol at my college involved one of the ASMs getting sick.


	20. Opening (Reprise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long I had to deal with the dentist.

It was Opening Night.

 

Again.

 

As it happens in the Life of Theatre.

 

The Christmas Carol Opening was much anticipated, because after they opened the show, they legally weren’t allowed to change anything else in the show. (Thanks, Equity.) Which meant no more last second changes or adjustments or anything that Eliot would have to wrap his head around. He just had to buckle down and do the show.

 

For the next month.

 

Most shows at the Chatwin Theatre ran for two-three weeks, and never really did more than six shows a week, with maybe one Two Show Day thrown into the mix. Christmas Carol, on the other hand, had 32 performances throughout November and December, and a few eight show weeks in the mix.

 

Which was a little bit crazy.

 

And it was good training for all the college students to get that Heavy Duty run under their belts and onto their resumes.

 

But it was a little bit crazy.

 

Eliot was just grateful that he would be spending the run with all of his best friends (and  _ boyfriend) _ as opposed to last year, when he did alone because everyone else avoided it.

 

Eliot even remarked as such to Margo as they ate their Traditional Opening Night Dinner at the Neitherlands Cafe before call time.

 

“I’m really looking forward to the run, actually,” He said, taking a swig of his water. “Which, like, I do theatre for a living, so that's not surprising, I guess. But just  _ how _ much I’m looking forward to it surprises me, I think,”

 

Margo listened intently, and was obviously trying not to smile at him.

 

“What?” Eliot quirked an eyebrow. “What’s that look for?”

 

Margo let herself smile and softly said: “Quentin’s been good for you,”

 

Eliot blushed.

 

He felt himself wanting to hide his own smile.

 

But he didn’t let himself.

 

And he didn't let himself shy away from the warm and fuzzy feelings in his chest.

 

Baby steps.

 

“So, what’s new with you?” He changed the subject and bit into his chicken.

 

Margo rolled her eyes and huffed. “My parents are coming in for opening night and they’re already driving me crazy. I think I’ve gotten a million text messages from my dad about how to get tickets from the box office, and I’m like “You’re a fully grown man! It shouldn’t be this hard!” but, whatever,” she crossed her arms.

 

Eliot’s chest tightened.

 

He frowned. “You didn’t mention that your parents were coming before,”

 

“Oh,” Margo played with her fork, “I must have forgotten,”

 

But Margo Hanson never forgot anything, ever. She was the sharpest person that Eliot knew. 

 

“Gotcha,” Eliot remarked, nodding, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest. 

 

He knew the real reason that she hadn’t said anything. 

 

It was this little thing that Margo did where she tried to protect Eliot from his own feelings about his parents by trying to not bring up her own. Which, honestly, he appreciated most days. Because it  _ was _ a sensitive topic for him, and her little thing  _ did _ help, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud. And most of the time, he could deal. But special events, like birthdays and openings, were harder for him.

 

“Anyway,” Margo waved her hand, “We’re going to the Library tonight, right?”

 

“If you mean the bar and not the hellhole, then yes,” Eliot nodded, grateful for the subject change.

 

“Fantastic,” Margo said, “I’ll be coming a little bit later, but I’ll be there,”

 

“And hopefully I’ll be a fun level of drunk by the time you get there. You’ll have to catch up to get on my level,” Eliot grinned, and Margo rolled her eyes. 

 

“El, I could drink you under the table any day of the week,”

 

Well.

 

She wasn’t wrong.

 

Eliot and Margo arrived at the theatre early, earlier than they had intended, to avoid any traffic. When they got there, Margo went off her own way into the backstage, and Eliot was grateful to slip into the Green Room and make his way into the dressing rooms by himself.

 

He needed a moment to recenter himself.

 

Because, well.

 

The sinking feeling in his chest hadn’t gone away. 

 

Which, honestly, kind of just made him more upset.

 

Margo was his best friend, he wanted her to feel comfortable to share parts of her life with him, even if that was complaining about her parents. And so Eliot felt stupid and selfish that Margo  bringing up the fact that the Hansons were attending tonight’s show just reminded him that his parents were  _ not _ coming to see the show.

 

And they were not going to send him any kind of note or Opening Night Well Wishes.

 

And they were not going to speak to him, at all.

 

Because they hadn’t for years.

 

So, why would they start now?

 

But, he didn’t want Opening Night to be tainted by his parents. He didn’t want it tainted by the sinking and just...  _ empty _ feeling in his heart. Especially when they weren’t even fucking  _ there _ , so he just shoved those sad feelings about his parents in a box and shoved that box into a ditch and pushed through the door to the dressing rooms, hoping to get some alone time.

 

But when he pushed into the room, his heart sank as he realized someone was already there.

 

And then his heart rose up again as he realized that it was Quentin.

 

“Q? What are you doing in here?” He called out, and Quentin spun around with wide eyes.

 

“You’re here! Early!” He yelped, and Eliot couldn’t help but give him an amused smile.

 

“Yes, I am,” Eliot said, sauntering towards him. “And what exactly are you doing in my dressing room?” He pulled Quentin closer by the waist, giving him a playful grin.

 

“I was just, um,” Quentin let himself be pulled. “I was hoping to surprise you?”

 

Eliot raised an eyebrow. “Surprise me? With what?”

 

Quentin bit his lip and stepped aside, exposing Eliot’s dressing station.

 

On it, there was another bouquet of flowers, another set of gorgeous lilies.

 

And beside that, a small box.

 

Eliot gave a curious look to Quentin, and reached for it. 

 

He could tell Quentin was holding his breath as Eliot took it off the table and opened it.

 

And then Eliot was breathless.

 

It was a set of silver cufflinks and a tie clip.

 

“I noticed that you, uh, didn’t have a matching set of cufflinks and tie clip?” Quentin said. “The ones you have are great, don’t get me wrong, but I thought it would be nice if you had like a whole set,” Quentin said, scratching the back of his neck, “And I know it’s not like, super fancy or anything, but I know you like silver things. And I don’t know much about clothes, but I know you do, and I just wanted to get you a little something... special for opening. And now that we’re like, officially dating, I figured it wasn’t weird to get you a present like this, but if you don’t like them, I can take them back. I still have the receipt-“

 

Eliot cut him off with a kiss.

 

Eliot kissed him because-

 

Well.

 

He didn’t know that he had words at this exact moment in time.

 

For that warm and fuzzy feeling that had overtaken his entire  _ freaking  _ chest.

 

For the way he’d gotten choked up at Quentin’s thoughtfulness.

 

Eliot pulled out of the kiss and was pleased to see the dazed expression on Quentin’s face.

 

“These are perfect, Q,” Eliot said, staring down at his present and not quite able to look Quentin in the eyes, but trying to convey everything he was feeling in the way he was running his hand up and down Quentin’s back. “This....um, it means a  _ lot _ to me,”

 

Quentin simply leaned into his side, and wrapped his arms around Eliot’s torso.

 

And Eliot knew that he understood. 

 

“I’m glad you like them,” Quentin said. “I was worried that you wouldn’t,”

 

“They’re from you,” Eliot leaned his cheek on Quentin’s head. “Of course I like them,”

 

Well.

 

Really.

 

There was another L Word that he could have used to describe how he felt about them.

 

“I’ll wear them tonight and everything,” Eliot said, “They’ll go perfect with my suit,”

 

Quentin reached up and kissed Eliot’s cheek, and he didn’t even need to pretend that his box of sad feelings about his parents had been shoved into a ditch. He was too busy focusing on the other feelings that had filled up his chest and the weight of Quentin pressed into his side.

 

He carried that feeling with him throughout the entire show, 

 

through all of the songs 

 

and the dances 

 

and the laughter 

 

and the tears 

 

and the energy he shared with his cast members 

 

And their sweaty clasped hands as they took their bows

 

And the swelling in his soul as they sang “Joy to the World” while fake snow fell upon their audience, spreading the joy of Christmas in the middle of November.

 

Eliot had always loved theatre, his whole life.

 

It had been his escape when he had needed it most.

 

But there was something inherently…..  _ magical _ about  _ A Christmas Carol _ .

 

It elicited a  _ physical _ reaction from him.

 

And just confirmed that he wanted to do for the rest of his life was telling stories for people who needed to hear them.

 

And the magic of the show carried him off the stage and through the backstage and through the Green Room and into the dressing rooms and out of his costume and into his navy blue suit. 

 

And into the cufflinks and tie pin that Quentin had bought him.

 

Eliot admired them in the mirror with a shy grin.

 

And his heart felt full.

 

Eliot, being the last one in the dressing room, shut off the station lights and made his way to the bathroom. His head was buried in his phone, scrolling through a stream of opening night well wishes, but when he pushed open the door to the men’s bathroom, he looked up and immediately saw Quentin.

 

Quentin, who was once again, in his suit with an undone bow tie around his neck.

 

“Hey, handsome,” Eliot smiled, leaning against the door frame. 

 

Quentin looked up and the moment he saw Eliot, he smiled. 

 

“Hey, yourself. I was just about to go find you,” Quentin’s eyes flicked up and down, giving Eliot a once over. “Damn, you look  _ really good _ in that suit,” 

 

Eliot bit his lip and grinned as he left the door frame and made his way to Quentin. “Oh, yeah, Coldwater?” 

 

“Yeah,” Quentin reached out and tugged Eliot closer by the suit jacket, and Eliot let himself be pulled, his hands finding their natural place on his boyfriend’s hips.

 

His  _ boyfriend. _

 

“I bet it’ll look even  _ better _ on my floor later,” Eliot whispered in Quentin’s ear. 

 

Quentin laughed, and pressed his forehead against Eliot’s chest for a moment before he looked back up at Eliot and rolled his eyes. “You’re  _ ridiculous, _ ” He teased.

 

Eliot hummed, and then, without thinking or asking, began to fashion Quentin’s bow tie. “We’re going to need to have a bow tie tying lesson one of these days,” He said.

 

Quentin blushed a little bit. “I don’t know, I kind of like when you do it for me,”

 

Eliot finished the bowtie and smoothed out the shoulders of Quentin’s jacket.

 

Eliot wiggled his eyebrows. “You like when I do a  _ lot _ of things for you, don’t you?”

 

“ _ Eliot,” _ Quentin scolded, but they both grinned.  

 

Margo, Alice, Kady, and Julia were waiting for them in the Green Room, each of them wearing their own stunning dress and looking like royalty.

 

And the six of them-

 

Well.

 

The three couples.

 

Hand in hand, joined the reception in the lobby.

 

And they feasted on the spinach puffs and the sausage stars and the platters of meats and cheeses and fruits and vegetables. 

 

They clinked their (non alcoholic) champagne glasses and cheered as Henry gave his speech about the spirit of Christmas and spreading it to the community.

 

They shook hands and schmoozed all the elderly board members who donated money to the program.

 

The whole cast took a photo together.

 

The whole crew took a photo together.

 

Margo, Kady, and Quentin took a photo together.

 

Margo, Kady, Julia, and Alice took a photo together.

 

Margo and Alice took a photo together.

 

Julia and Kady took a photo together.

 

Margo, Alice, Fen, Julia, and Kady took a photo together.

 

Josh, Quentin, Penny, and Todd took a photo together.

 

Alice, Penny, Kady, Julia, Margo, Josh, Todd and Quentin took a photo together.

 

Julia and Quentin took a photo together.

 

Eliot, Margo, and Quentin took a photo together.

 

Eliot and Quentin took two photos together.

 

One of them just smiling and posing, an average Opening Night photo.  

 

Another of them where Quentin had pulled Eliot’s face down to kiss his cheek, with Eliot laughing and arms wrapped around Quentin. 

 

Eliot may or may not have  _ immediately _ made the photo his lockscreen. 

 

May  _ definitely _ have.

 

But soon, the whole gang made their way downtown and to the Library (sans Margo, who would be coming in a little bit, after spending a bit more time with her parents) where they were greeted by Zelda. 

 

Zelda, who was wearing a Christmas sweater and who had decked the bar out with Christmas lights and decor, and gave all of them a big hug as they came in, wishing them all a happy opening.

 

It was a simple gesture, the decor and hugs, but it made Eliot feel warm and fuzzy on the inside.

 

He seemed to be feeling a lot of that lately.

 

And same as Peter’s opening, the first round was on the house.

 

Eliot made his way to the bar as everyone else claimed their usual seats in the corner. He ordered his usual drink: a gin martini with two olives and a splash of olive juice on the side. And the only thing that would make it better would be-

 

“Hey, you,” Quentin popped up next to him and kissed him on the mouth.

 

Eliot could get used to this.

 

To them being  _ together _ together.

 

“Got your usual drink?” Quentin asked, nodding towards the bar.

 

“Sure did,” Eliot nodded. “What are you gonna get tonight?”

 

Quentin leaned against the counter. “I think I’m gonna go with classic red wine tonight,”

 

“Solid choice,” Eliot hummed. “Having a good opening night so far?”

 

Quentin grinned up at him, and gently ran one of his hands up and down Eliot’s arm. “The best,”

 

Eliot could have lost himself in the way that Quentin was looking at him.

 

Unlike opening nights of the past, tonight’s goal was not to get shitfaced.

 

Eliot was not looking to lose himself in the alcohol. 

 

He had something far better.

 

The pair took their drinks and joined the rest of the gang at the couches, Quentin snuggling into Eliot’s side and Eliot draping his arm around Quentin’s shoulders. They joined in on the conversation about how the show went that night and the teasing of Eliot for his fall into the trap. 

 

And Eliot pretended like he didn’t see Julia grinning at them.

 

Margo arrived a little while later, immediately pulling Alice into her lap the second she sat down on the couch.

 

“I need a fucking drink,” Margo groaned. “I love my parents, but they’re  _ exhausting _ ,”

 

Oh, no. 

 

The box of feelings that Eliot had tossed in the ditch came raising up to smack him in the chest.

 

“What’d they do this time?” Alice asked, running her fingers through Margo’s hair.

 

Margo huffed. “They’re just so up my ass about everything all the  _ fucking _ time and I just wish they could just back off,”

 

Eliot looked down at his drink.

 

“Yikes,” Julia said, “I feel you. My parents want to come up to see the show next week and I just know that my mom is gonna drive me crazy,”

 

He chewed on his bottom lip.

 

“Ugh, don’t even get me started on my mom,” Kady groaned. 

 

Eliot stood up. “I’m gonna go smoke,”

 

Frustration bubbled in his chest.

 

At his parents, as usual.

 

But also, at himself.

 

Because he’d been having a good  _ fucking _ night. And he didn’t want to let himself get bogged down by negative parental based feelings, and more importantly, he didn’t want the others to feel awkward about talking about their own parents in front of him. 

 

Better to just remove himself from the situation for a bit and then come back later and continue to have a good opening night with a clear head and heart.

 

So, Eliot slipped away with a wave to his friends, who, thankfully, hadn’t seemed to notice his emotional shift. He slipped onto the Library’s patio and pulled out his pack of cigarettes.

 

Luckily, the patio was empty, so he was able to claim a chair in the corner and listen to the muffled sounds of the city around them.

 

He didn’t think.

 

He just smoked.

 

Well. 

 

He  _ tried  _ not to think.

 

It wasn’t working out too well for him.

 

Then the back door opened.

 

And Quentin came through.

 

“Hey,” Eliot raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing out here?”

 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Quentin said, making his way over to Eliot with his hands in his pockets, “You kind of bolted out of there,” Quentin leaned against the railing next to where Eliot was sitting.

 

Eliot bit his lip. 

 

“Just wanted to smoke,” He shrugged.

 

“El, come on, what’s up?” Quentin said, clearly not buying it. 

 

Embarrassment suddenly washed over him.

 

He looked away.

 

And crossed his arms.

 

And sunk lower in his seat.

 

But before he could even open his mouth to protest or change the subject or deny anything, Quentin crouched down next to him and put his hand on Eliot’s knee.

“Hey, no,” Quentin shook his head, “We’re not doing that. Come back to me,”

 

Eliot’s brow furrowed. “What?”

 

Quentin’s face was soft, and he rubbed circles on Eliot’s knee with his thumb. “Whatever it is that you’ve got going on right now, don’t run away from me, okay? You know that can talk to me about it,”

 

Oh.

A warmth flushed from his cheeks down his neck and through his chest and to his stomach.

 

He hadn’t realized that Quentin had gotten so  _ good _ at reading him.

 

“It’s stupid,” Eliot shook his head. “Well, it makes me  _ feel _ stupid,”

 

Quentin just squeezed his knee, sending a silent message.

 

Eliot’s eyes flicked up and they made eye contact.

 

And Eliot understood.

 

“It’s my parents,” He blurted out, still looking at Quentin. “And the fact that they just... don’t speak to me. And  _ haven’t  _ since I left home when I was  _ seventeen _ . Right after I came out. Well,  _ because _ I came out. And most of the time, I’m fine. But every now and then, it just kind of hits me, you know? And today’s just one of those days,”

 

Oof.

 

That was a lot.

 

A lot for him to admit while maintaining eye contact. 

 

But Quentin was still looking at him softly.

 

And it made the emptiness in his chest feel slightly better.

 

“Okay, that’s valid,” Quentin nodded. “What do you need?”

 

Eliot blinked. “What?”

 

“Like, what do you need from me?” Quentin shrugged. “Do you need to be alone? Do you need to talk about it? Need me to distract you? Just tell me, and I’ll do it,”

 

Eliot’s heart caught in his throat.

 

And in that moment he’d never felt more....

 

_ Grateful. _

 

To have Quentin in his life.

 

And Margo was right.

 

Quentin  _ had _ been good for him.

 

“Can you just sit out here, with me, for a bit?” Eliot said, patting the seat next to him. 

 

Quentin smiled, and swiftly moved from his crouched position to sitting in the chair next to Eliot.

 

And their hands found each other and entwined. 

 

And they sat out there, together, holding hands in silence as Eliot finished smoking.

 

And then for a little while longer, just enjoying the silence of the night.

 

Eliot loved the Library’s patio at night, with all the Christmas Lights and warm lamps that created a soft glow and a safe haven amongst bistro tables and potted plants.

 

And he also-

 

Well.

 

It was just.... the  _ sight  _ of Quentin in that warm glow.

 

The way the shadows flickered on his face and showed his profile.

 

It made his heart pound in his chest.

 

But it was  _ just _ the sight that he....

 

Um.

 

Yeah.

 

That was it.

 

“Okay,” Eliot squeezed his hand. “I think I’m ready to go back in,”

 

Quentin nodded, and they stood up, hands still clasped. Quentin led the way, his face passing in and out of the lamps on the tables and profile lit by the warm glow as they made their way back to the door.

 

And Eliot stopped in his tracks, tugging Quentin back to him.

 

Quentin turned back to him with a confused look.

 

And Eliot kissed him.

 

Deeply.

 

Surely.

 

Ardently.

 

They pulled apart, and Quentin’s eyes were practically glazed over.

 

“What was that for?” Quentin asked.

 

Eliot brushed his thumb against Quentin’s cheek.

 

“Just….” He shrugged, “Because,”

 

Quentin rolled his eyes playfully and swiftly and briefly kissed him again with a grin.

 

“Now are you ready to go back in?” Quentin raised an eyebrow.

 

Eliot hummed. “One more,” 

 

Then he pulled Quentin in for yet another kiss, and this time, one of Quentin’s hands came up to cup the side of his face. 

 

And they were the only two people in the whole world.

 

And Eliot was lost in Quentin’s touch.

 

“Okay,” Eliot whispered, pulling away. “Now I’m ready to go in,”

 

Quentin grinned and pulled Eliot along with him to the door.

 

And Eliot let himself be pulled.

 

And they rejoined their friends on the couches.

 

And Eliot left his sad feelings on the patio.

 

And his heart in Quentin’s hands.

 

And Eliot was right.

 

Quentin’s suit  _ did _ look better on his floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .......because this chapter was so sweet it gave me a toothache (bum tiss)
> 
> also highly recommend re reading Chapter 10 and this one back to back for fun times and feelings and growth.
> 
> (this chapter is a specific shoutout to all my queer theatre friends whose parents never came to their openings. it's accurate to eliot, yeah, but also something i personally saw a lot in college and in the professional world, still. sending love to all.)


	21. Finals

Jessie, Jules, and Their Story

 

_ Jules, he was fucked up. _

_ Jessie, she was peerless. _

_ So, of course, they fell in love. _

_ Jessie let Jules know what was wrong with him. _

_ And Jules stopped using and binging  _

_ and pissing his whole life away. _

_ Jules told Jessie he’d die for her. _

_ Which, looking back, was the right thing to say. _

_ Jules, and his Jessie, got married in his temple. _

_ Because they calculated that Jules was  _

_ more Jewish than Jessie was Catholic. _

_ Jules’ mother was pleased. _

_ Married six months, when on Route 87, _

_ Jules turned quickly and a beaten mitsubishi _

_ Killed Jessie in the crash. _

_ A marriage begun and ended _

_ With broken glass. _

_ His life was scattered. _

_ And soon was her ash. _

 

* * *

 

Once Christmas Carol opened, the rest of the semester seemed to breeze by until they were a week away from finals and two weeks until Carol’s closing and the start of Winter Break.

 

And Eliot was swamped with writing papers and preparing for his scenes in his acting classes and studying for his upcoming exams and getting his lighting project ready.

 

His lighting project, which he had completely put off till the last possible second and had ignored all semester long. 

 

And Eliot was one semester away from graduating, so motivating himself to do anything was a challenge in and of itself. 

 

And, of course, being one semester away from graduating meant that he had to start looking at like, life plan stuff. 

 

Which was even  _ more _ terrifying.

 

He was practically spending all of his spare time at the library with Margo, who was also graduating in the spring, trying to get their lives pulled together, finishing their papers and looking up internship/apprenticeship prospects and generally trying not to keel over.

 

Which, unfortunately, meant that both of them were seeing less of their partners, which was making them both a little cranky, on top of all the stress of finals.

 

Eliot didn’t  _ want _ to write a paper about theatre history.

 

He didn’t  _ want _ to memorize his lines for his advanced acting class.

 

He didn’t  _ want _ to study for his exams.

 

He didn’t  _ want _ to search the internet to find an internship for next season.

 

He  _ wanted _ to suck Quentin’s dick and then cuddle on the couch while watching a movie.

 

But  _ no _ , he was stuck in the  _ library _ on a Friday  _ fucking _ night doing all the  _ unfun _ things.

 

At least, he brought snacks for the evening to munch on.

 

And at least, Margo was there with him.

 

And at least, tomorrow, he and Quentin were supposed to work on their lighting projects all day in the media lab. They’d reserved it for the whole day, hoping to get both of their projects knocked out at once to make finals easier on both of them.

 

“Ugh, if I spend one more second on Offstage Jobs, I’m gonna lose my mind,” Margo groaned, clunking her head against the table.

 

Eliot popped a grape in his mouth. “That’s the tech job listing website, yeah?”

 

Margo groaned in response.

 

“Have you found anything good, yet?” Eliot propped his feet up on the desk.

 

“Well, I’ve got a list going,” Margo pulled her head off the table and slumped back in her chair. “Sutherland pointed me in the direction of the LORT job resources site, so I’ve been going through all the theatres seeing which ones have a program that I like,” Margo pulled out her journal, opened it up, and slid it across the table to Eliot.

 

With a raised eyebrow, he propped the book up and skimmed it. “Cleveland Playhouse, Roundhouse, Arena Stage, Virginia Rep, Baltimore Center, Cincinnati Playhouse, the McCarter, the Wilma, Portland, Seattle, Denver, Louisville, _ Bambi _ ,” Eliot looked up and frowned. “None of these are in New York,”

 

Margo waved her hand. “It’s just the beginning of the list, El. New York is a whole other monster that I’ve got to tackle,”

 

Eliot pursed his lips. “Okay, but the plan is still to go to New York  _ together _ , right?”

 

Margo nodded. “Of course it is. But I’ve got to apply to like, twenty places in order to get into at least one. I’m not gonna put all my eggs in one basket,”

 

Eliot frowned, but she had a point. Pursuing a career in theatre was not an easy thing.

 

It would  _ always _ take ten “no’s” to get to one “yes.”

 

“It’s all gonna work out, El,” Margo took her journal back, “Have a little faith,”

 

“I’ll have no such thing,” Eliot scoffed. “I have my plan and I’m sticking to it. I’m moving to New York and starting my career and no one is going to stop me,”

 

Margo nodded, and took a swig of her coffee. “And where does Q fit into this plan?”

 

Eliot blinked, and looked up from his notes. “Q?”

 

“Q,” Margo confirmed.

 

“Like, Quentin, my boyfriend?”

 

“Yeah,”

 

“Uhhhhhhhhh,”

 

Margo rolled her eyes and opened her laptop up again. “It’s okay, El, we don’t have to talk about it right now. But it’s something you’re going to have to think about, eventually,” She gave him a pointed look before honing in on her paper, focusing intently on her typing.

 

And Eliot felt like he was frozen, mouth open, quizzical look upon his brow, a cucumber sandwich mid air, and his heart pounding in his chest.

 

The wheels in his head were turning and turning and turning.

 

How  _ did _ Quentin fit into his plan?

 

Eliot had been relying on this plan for the last few years, the idea of escaping his sad reality to move to the big city and pursue his theatrical dreams had been his literal escapist fantasy.

 

But he never planned on Quentin. 

 

“You alright there, El?” Margo asked, not looking up.

 

“Uh, huh,” He said, still frozen.

 

Still thinking.

 

Still processing.

 

_ How did Quentin fit in his plan? _

 

Margo bit her lip, and her eyes flicked up to him. “Look, I’m sorry I brought it up-”

 

“I’m not gonna lose him,” escaped Eliot’s mouth before he could stop himself. 

 

Margo straightened up in her seat.

 

Eliot swallowed, and looked Margo dead in the eyes. “And I’m willing to do long distance, if that’s what it takes,” 

 

Margo’s eyebrows sky rocked.

 

“But I don’t know what Quentin thinks, so I should probably talk to him about it. We’ve kind of avoided the subject, so far,”

 

Margo’s jaw went slack and her eye twitched. “Who the fuck are you and what have you done with with Eliot  _ Fucking _ Waugh?”

 

“Uhhhhhh,” 

 

Eliot’s phone buzzed.

 

Quentin’s face and name appeared on his phone.

 

Eliot frowned.

 

A quiet fear rippled through him.

 

“Q’s calling me,” He said. 

 

Margo scowled. “Quentin  _ hates _ phone calls. Weren’t he and Julia going out tonight?”

 

Eliot pursed his lips and nodded.

 

The fear intensified.

 

Quentin  _ never _ called  _ anyone _ unless it was an  _ emergency. _

 

He answered it. “Q? What’s up?”

 

_ “ELIOT!”  _ Quentin’s voice blasted, and Eliot had to pull the phone away from his ear.

 

He and Margo exchanged a look that was almost.... scared.

 

“Baby, where are you?” Eliot tried to keep his voice calm. 

 

“Eliot, thank  _ God _ you picked up,” Quentin said, which did not answer any of Eliot’s questions.

 

And actually, put his fear levels on full  _ fucking  _ blast.

 

Almost involuntarily, Eliot stood up out of his chair. “Baby, are you okay?”

 

“You were the only person I could think to call!”

 

Eliot’s heart was pounding in his chest. “Quentin, are you still with Julia?”

 

Margo mouthed a “ _ What the fuck?” _ to him and he shook his head.

 

“Julia’s here but she’s not responding to me,”

 

“Quentin Coldwater,  _ what the hell is going on?”  _

 

And Quentin laughed.

 

He actually  _ laughed _ !

 

“ _ El-i-ot,  _ you sound so serious! You’re lucky that you’re cute when you’re serious. Did you know that? Did you know that you’re really cute?”

 

Eliot exhaled, turned to Margo, and pulled the phone to his chest.

 

“He is  _ drunk, _ ” Eliot huffed. He put the phone back up to his ear. “Quentin,” Eliot said, almost sharply. “Are you okay?”

 

Quentin  _ whined _ . “Are you upset with me, El?”

 

Eliot looked up at the ceiling. “No, baby, I’m not upset. I’m just trying to figure out if you’re safe, or if you’re hurt,”

 

And then, Eliot heard Julia in the background: “Q, did you get Eliot on the phone? Kady isn’t answering, but I’m ready to call Margo if I need to,”

 

“Get your  _ own _ boyfriend, Jules, this one is taken,” Quentin’s drunk-ass drawled.

 

And then, Eliot heard Julia wrestle Quentin for the phone, with lots of protesting from Quentin. 

 

And then: “Eliot, your man can’t hold his liquor,”

 

Eliot turned to Margo, who had crossed her arms and propped her feet up on the table, and mouthed “ _ It’s Julia,” _ before retaking his seat at the table.

 

“Is he okay?” Eliot asked, for like, the millionth time.

 

“He’s fine,” Julia confirmed, and Eliot exhaled. “Just drunk off his ass,”

 

“I’m not  _ that _ drunk, Jules!” Quentin protested in the background.

 

“Yes, you are, asshat,” Julia said, clearly to Quentin. “Anyway, Eliot. We’re both too drunk to drive and Kady isn’t answering her phone. Can you come get us?”

 

“Yeah, where are you guys?” Eliot didn’t even have to think about it.

 

If Quentin needed him, he’d be there in a  _ heartbeat _ .

 

Well, and Julia, too.

 

“Down at the Library,” Julia answered.

 

“Great, I’ll be there soon,” Eliot said, and hung up.

 

He put his phone down on the table and ran his hands over his face.

 

“I’m dating an idiot,” Eliot groaned.

 

Margo gave him a sly grin. “Yeah, but you  _ love _ him,”

 

Eliot did  _ not  _ acknowledge that.

 

It didn’t take him long to pack up his stuff, wave goodbye to Margo, get in his car and drive from one library to the other. And when he pulled up, Julia and Quentin were waiting for him on the curb.

 

And Julia had to practically drag Quentin to the car and tossed him into the front seat.

 

“ _ ELIOT!”  _ Quentin drunkenly screeched as he clamored into the passenger seat. “YOU’RE HERE!”

 

“Hi, baby,” Eliot said, exchanging a humorous glace with Julia.

 

“Eliot, I missed you  _ so _ much,” Quentin said, trying to crawl across the center console.

 

“Down, boy.” Eliot pushed Quentin back into his own seat. “Sit in your seat and buckle up,”

 

Quentin crossed his arms and stuck out his bottom lip, making no moves for his seat belt.

 

_ “El-i-ot,” _ Quentin drunkenly drawled out. “Are you not happy to see me?”

 

Eliot bit his lip and bit back a laugh. “Yes, baby, I’m happy to see you,” He reached over and lightly cupped Quentin’s cheek. “I just want you to be safe for the car ride, okay?”

 

Quentin leaned into his touch and stared up at him with the biggest Puppy Dog eyes Eliot had ever seen in his  _ life. _ “You’re like,  _ so _ sweet, Eliot. Like the sweetest of the sweet. Sweet as a peach,” Quentin babbled, “And you’re  _ my _ boyfriend,”

 

Eliot’s heart fucking  _ melted. _

 

“Are we gonna get going?” Julia poked her head in between the two front seats, “You’re kinda holding up traffic,”

 

Eliot glanced in the rear view window. “Hoolia, there’s literally no one behind us,”

 

“But, there  _ could _ be traffic. You can’t predict the traffic patterns,” Julia slouched back in her seat.

 

Right. 

 

Julia was drunk, too.

 

Eliot rolled his eyes. 

 

Quentin still had made no move for his seat belt, so Eliot stretched across the center console and used his long arms to reach over and grab Quentin’s seat belt.

 

“What are you doing, El?” Quentin asked innocently, shifting in his seat and making it harder for Eliot to reach around him.

 

Eliot didn’t answer, but tugged at the seat belt and gently pushed Quentin back in his seat 

 

“ _ El _ , not in front of Jules,” Quentin whined as Eliot manhandled him into his seat and clicked the seat belt into place.

 

Eliot hummed in response as Julia loudly protested being witness to any sexual antics.

 

“Hush, both of you,” Eliot looked back at Julia. “Are you both buckled and ready to go?”

 

Julia nodded. “Take me home, daddy-o,” 

 

_ “Hey,”  _ Quentin frowned, “Only  _ I _ get to call him Daddy,”

 

Eliot’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

 

“Okay, let’s play Quiet Mouse, ready? One, two, three, quiet mouse,” Eliot said, navigating them through the downtown area and to Julia’s apartment in the Fort. 

 

“You just don’t want Quentin talking about your sex lives,” Julia poked him.

 

Well spotted, Hoolia.

 

“Jules, shhhhh,” Quentin waved a finger at her. “Eliot said we’re playing Quiet Mouse and I don’t want to lose,”

 

Julia huffed, and crossed her arms. “You just lost, Q-”

 

“Okay, round two!” Eliot interjected. “One, two, three, Quiet Mouse!”

 

His drunk passengers were quiet the rest of the drive to Julia’s apartment.

 

It was only broken when Julia declared herself the Quiet Mouse winner and blew them both kisses goodnight, with Quentin loudly shouting at her that he had always been and would always be the Quiet Mouse champion.

 

And Eliot could only laugh at them.

 

Once they watched Julia safely enter her apartment building, Eliot took off again, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the console.

 

Well, it rested there for half a second before Quentin’s hand snatched it and laced their fingers together and pulled it closer to him.

 

Their hands were warm in the cold November night.

 

Eliot smiled in the darkness.

 

“Did you guys have fun tonight?” Eliot asked, turning out onto the street.

 

“The most amount of fun,” Quentin responded. “The definition of fun,”

 

Eliot nodded. “Glad to hear it. And I’m glad you called me to come get you instead of trying to drive or getting an uber,”

 

“Julia said we shouldn’t interrupt your library time,” Quentin said, rubbing circles into Eliot’s hand with his thumb. “But I wanted to see you and I didn’t think you’d mind. Plus, Kady wasn’t answering her phone,”

 

“No, she was probably asleep already,” Eliot nodded. “But honestly, you rescued me,”

 

“I did?” Quentin’s voice was soft. “I  _ rescued _ you?”

 

Eliot’s eyes flicked briefly to the wide-eyed Quentin before returning to the road.

 

Quentin was  _ fucking _ adorable when he was drunk.

 

“You sure did, baby,” Eliot grinned. “Saved me from having to look at jobs in New York,”

 

Oh.

 

Fuck.

 

He and Quentin had been avoiding that topic.

 

And even though he did very much want to have that conversation with him, doing it while Quentin was drunk off his ass was maybe not the best idea.

 

Because now, Quentin’s grip on his hand was tight.

 

“Don’t want you to go,” Quentin mumbled.

 

An  _ ache _ rippled through Eliot’s chest so quickly that, for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

 

“Q-” He started to say, but Quentin cut him off.

 

“Don’t want to lose you,” Quentin whispered.

 

Something else rippled through him.

 

A quiet fear.

 

“You’re not gonna lose me, Quentin,” He whispered back.

 

“Promise?”

 

There was zero hesitation in his response.

 

“Promise,”

 

The wave of terror rippled through Eliot again.

 

Terror because of how  _ deeply _ he meant that promise.

 

Eliot could only focus on the road ahead of him for the rest of the drive home.

 

And the feeling of Quentin’s warm hand in his own.

 

The next day, Eliot had to haul a deeply hungover Quentin to the McDonalds drive through for some hashbrowns and then to the media lab so they could actually work on their project. And luckily (or unluckily, he still hadn’t decided) for Eliot, Quentin’s memories of the night before were fuzzy.

 

“I said you were  _ what?” _ Quentin asked, sipping on his extra large Sprite.

 

“Sweet as a peach,” Eliot grinned, pushing through the door to the media lab and flicking on the lights. “You were pretty fucking wasted,”

 

“But that’s actually kind of sweet,” Quentin pointed at him. “Peaches are my favorite fruit,”

 

“Plums are mine,” Eliot shrugged.

 

Quentin rolled his eyes. “That’s so pretentious, El. No one’s favorite fruit is a plum,”

 

Eliot tossed his backpack to the ground and began turning on the lighting system. “Plums are tasty and a cool color. Plus, they’re unique,”

 

Quentin squinted his eyes at Eliot while he turned on the lighting console. “They’re  _ plums _ , El. They’re terrible, and I won’t eat them. Peaches, on the other hand, are the best,”

 

Eliot couldn’t help but grin at his boyfriend’s defensive stance on fruit.

 

“Okay, let’s compromise,” he said, stepping towards Quentin and slipping his fingers through Quentin’s belt loops. “You like peaches, and I like plums, so as  _ partners _ , there’s no reason we can’t have both in our home,”

 

Quentin frowned and crossed his arms, but Eliot could see the playful nature in it.

 

“Excuse you,  _ sir, _ this is a  _ peach _ household, first and foremost,”

 

“You’re ridiculous.” Eliot laughed, and kissed the top of Quentin’s head. “We are a plum and peach household from now on. Accept your fate,”

 

“Fine,” Quentin huffed and pressed his hands against Eliot’s chest. “But ‘plum and peach’ sounds dumb. When I said peaches first, I meant it,”

 

Eliot hummed in response. “Fine, you win that one. We are a peach and plum household,”

 

Quentin nodded, looking rather pleased with himself. “Peaches and plums,”

 

“Peaches and plums,” Eliot repeated back, pulling Quentin even closer.

 

“Peaches and plums,” Quentin wrapped his around Eliot’s neck.

 

“Peaches and plums,” Eliot placed a hand on the side of Quentin’s face.

 

“Peaches and plums,” Quentin tilted his head up.

 

“Peaches and-” They didn’t finish that last one, because their lips met.

 

It was a firm kiss, and Eliot was  _ seconds _ away from shoving Quentin against the wall and sucking him off the way he’d been wanting to for the last 24 hours, when Quentin pulled away and gave him a sly smile.

 

“We can...  _ discuss fruit.... _ later,” Quentin patted his chest. “But we really have to do this project,”

 

“Says the man who wouldn’t get out of bed until I physically tore all the covers off of him,”

 

Quentin smacked him and rolled his eyes. “We’ll have time to make out later. We gotta do this project  _ now _ ,”

 

“Okay, fine, you hypocrite,” Eliot teased, sitting down at the board. “You wanna do your project first? You’re doing a song from Spring Awakening, right?”

 

Quentin nodded, and pulled his notebook out of his bag. “Yeah, I’m doing “Don’t Do Sadness/Blue Wind,” but I’ve got it all planned out, so it shouldn’t take long,”

 

And it really didn’t take long.

 

They worked on Quentin’s up until lunch time, with Eliot hanging and focusing the lights and popping in gels and gobos and programing the cues and mover’s special effects and a whole bunch of nonsense that he didn’t really understand.

 

Eliot was not good at being a lighting tech. Designing, he could be okay with, but he was very grateful that he only had to play this part for a small school project. Quentin was a pretty good designer, but really his project was just good because he cared a lot about the show itself.

 

In Quentin’s project, he played with shadow and texture. Since the song was broken up into three sections: Moritz’ section, Ilse’s section, and their joint section at the very end, Quentin played with the directionality of the patterns on the floor and the way they collided together at the very end. And even though the details of designing seemed to frustrate Quentin a little bit, it was clear that he was enjoying himself, at least, a little bit. 

 

They ordered a pizza for lunch, and then launched into Eliot’s project.

 

“What song are you doing, again?” Quentin asked as he threw away the empty pizza box.

 

“It’s “Cut You a Piece” from  _ 35mm: A Musical Exhibition _ ,” Eliot responded.

 

Quentin made a face. “That’s the really sad one, right? Where the girl dies in the car crash right after they get married?”

 

Eliot nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, that’s the one. I worked on it for my vocal lessons last year. But, I actually think it’s super romantic,”

 

Quentin quirked an eyebrow. “Romantic? It’s sad as fuck,”

 

Eliot rolled his eyes, “It’s  _ romantic _ , Q. It’s about loving someone and being terrified of losing them,” He said while digging through his bag. “I mean come on: “ _ You love someone so much that to lose them is to never recover. You’ve given a part of your being to them, and when they go, you can never have it back, _ ” That’s romantic as fuck,”

 

When he looked up from his bag, Quentin was staring at him with wide eyes.

 

Oh.

 

_ Fuck _ .

 

Was that weird for him to say? Especially since they hadn’t said the L Word, yet?

 

But before Eliot could backtrack or really say anything, Quentin nodded.

 

“You’re right,” Quentin said, settling into the chair at the board and leaning towards Eliot. “That is romantic as fuck,”

 

Eliot exhaled, grinned, and closed the distance between them.

 

And no matter how many times he kissed Quentin, each meeting of their lips made him feel like fireworks were exploding in his chest.

 

Which, was romantic as fuck. 

 

But, they still had to do their project.

 

Quentin was a much better tech than he was a designer.

 

And Eliot was a much better designer than he was tech.

 

For Eliot’s project, he played with color.

 

And he played with bodies on stage.

 

Well, they couldn’t have actual bodies because it was a mock stage smaller than his bed. But they had drawing figurines in the lab, so he pulled three of them down from the cabinets.

 

One went down stage center, to represent the narrator. 

 

One went upstage left, to represent Jules.

 

And the one figurine already wearing a dress went up stage right, to represent Jessie.

 

And Eliot was able to sit back with his feet propped up on the table while Quentin focused the lights on the figurines, enjoying the way Quentin’s brow furrowed with focused intent and the way his shirt rose up to expose his stomach when he reached up to grasp the instruments.

 

_ God _ , his boyfriend was  _ hot _ .

 

Quentin was also better at getting the lights to do what Eliot wanted them to do, and in no time, they had programmed the whole first half of the show, which was basically just the story of Jessie and Jules and the chorus, as told by the narrator.

 

Eliot scanned his notes. “Okay, so after he gets through this little bridge here-”

 

“Which one?” Quentin glanced over at him from the board.

 

“The one right after “ _ I lost my life when I lost you _ ,” Eliot poked him with his pencil. “Keep up. So, you know how the song builds? I’m thinking when we snap to the next half of the song, we snap down to a top light on the narrator for when he switches to first person point of view with ‘ _ I haven’t thought of Jules, or Jessie, or their story for the better part of a year,”” _

 

Quentin nodded. “Yeah, I’m with you,” He pressed a few buttons on the keyboard, and turned on the light directly above the narrator figure, creating a nice top light.

 

“Great, now take out all the other lights,”

 

A few more presses of the buttons, and soon the whole stage was dark except for the one light.

 

“So what I’m thinking,” Eliot leaned back in his seat. “Is to bring some warm colors into it. For Jessie and Jules, it’s been all about the contrasting cold colors, so when we switch to the narrator, we switch it up. Maybe like a nice orange?”

 

Quentin nodded in the darkness and brought up some of the LED lights, spinning the wheels on the console until he’d mixed them all to be a “nice” orange. 

 

“And what line do you want that to happen on?” Quentin looked at him.

 

Eliot pursed his lips, and looked down at the printed out lyrics he had. “I was thinking on:  ‘ _ But warming your hands with mine fills me with terror, that I will lose you, today or tomorrow, in two years or fifty.’” _

 

Quentin stilled, and Eliot looked up with a raised eyebrow.

 

Despite the fact that the warm orange light from the stage was rippling out and casting its rays onto Quentin’s face, he could still see the blush that had just spread across Quentin’s cheeks.

 

And in a split second, memories of holding Quentin’s hand the night before, as he promised his very drunk boyfriend that he wasn’t going to lose him, came flooding back.

 

Oh,  _ fuck. _

 

Guess Quentin hadn’t forgotten that part.

 

A silence stretched between them for a moment.

 

Now would be a great time to talk about how Quentin fit into Eliot’s plan.

 

“Do you.....” Eliot swallowed. “Do you... think that’s a good line?” 

 

Quentin turned back to the board, hands anxiously dancing around at all the buttons. “Yeah, that sounds great, El,”

 

Oh,  _ fuck! _

 

“Quentin-”

 

“I’ll just make a new cue for it, right now,”

 

“Q-”

 

“Do you want that to be a slow fade up or a bump cue?”

 

_ “Baby,” _

 

Quentin’s hands stilled. 

 

_ (I cut you a piece of me) _

 

“It’s okay if you want to take back the promise,” He mumbled. “I was pretty drunk and blubbering nonsense. Most of which, I can’t even remember. But I know you’ve got to move to New York for your career and all-”

 

“I meant it, Q,” Eliot reached out and touched Quentin’s arm. “You’re not gonna lose me,”

 

_ (I cut you a piece of me) _

 

Quentin turned his head to Eliot and their eyes locked. 

 

_ (For where you go, I will go too) _

 

And Quentin’s expression was....

 

_ (For I am now a part of you) _

 

Hopeful.

 

_ (From now on, I’m half a soul) _

 

And there was a fluttering in Eliot’s chest.

 

_ (Without you, I can’t be whole) _

 

“Really?” Quentin asked, placing his hand over the top of Eliot’s.

 

_ (So cut me a piece of you) _

 

“Really,” Eliot nodded, smiling softly. 

 

_ (Cut me a piece of you) _

 

“When Eliot  _ Freaking _ Waugh makes a promise, he doesn’t break it. And besides,” 

 

_ (And where I go, you’ll always be) _

 

Eliot bumped his shoulder into Quentin’s. “We’re a peaches and plums household, now, remember? Can’t have a peach without his plum,” Eliot wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

 

_ (Oh, you are the start of me) _

 

Quentin rolled his eyes, but he bumped Eliot back and squeezed his hand.

 

_ (Oh, you are the start of me) _

 

“Peaches and plums,” Quentin whispered to him, a gentle smile toying at his lips.

 

_ (Oh, you are the start of me) _

 

“Peaches and plums,” Eliot echoed back their new mantra, enjoying the way it sounded.

 

_ (Oh, you are the start of me) _

 

The way it almost sounded like the “ _I love you_ ,” he didn’t have the courage to say.

 

_ (Oh, you are the start of me) _

 

Didn’t have the courage to say  _ yet. _

 

_ (Oh, you are the start of me) _   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavily based off of real life events for me. I really did a project for my Intro to Lighting Class with "Cut You a Piece" and had a romantic moment with my partner at the time. And Margo's list of theatres was my list of theatres. Funny how this all works out.


	22. Christmas Carol Closing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might as well be an equity audition room because it's got callbacks on callbacks on callbacks.

The real benefit of working  _ A Christmas Carol _ was that once finals was over, the show still ran for another week.

 

Which meant that for a week, Eliot got to pretend that he was a working professional and not a college student doing shows. 

 

They only had evening performances all week, so Eliot could sleep in and spend the day doing whatever he wanted. And since Quentin, Margo, Alice, Julia, and Kady were all also working the show and in town for the next week until winter break, the group had plans to hang out all week, and Eliot was  _ really _ looking forward to it.

 

Which, was nice. 

 

He’d, of course, been friends with some of their group (Margo especially) all four years, but the group had really gotten close in the last few months.

 

And part of that was largely due to Quentin.

 

He was like their glue.

 

Monday morning, Eliot blinked into consciousness with sleepy eyes, and was pleased that the first thing he saw in the morning light was his partner’s own sleepy smile, and the first thing he felt was the weight of Quentin curled into his side and on his chest.

 

And Eliot’s heart swelled.

 

“Morning, handsome,” Quentin said, softly running his fingertips up and down Eliot’s chest.

 

“Morning, yourself,” Eliot said, trailing his fingertips across Quentin’s back. And then he grinned, and lazily rolled them over so that Quentin was on his back and Eliot was leaning over him. “Hey, guess what?”

 

The corners of Quentin’s mouth slipped upwards. “What?”

 

“We don’t have to go to class today,” Eliot whispered, pressing a kiss to Quentin’s shoulder. “And we can do  _ whatever  _ we want all-” Eliot pressed a kiss to Quentin’s collar bone, “-day-” Eliot pressed a kiss to Quentin’s neck, “-long.”

 

A soft laugh bubbled out of Quentin’s chest as Eliot smothered him with kisses. “You make a good point there,” Quentin hummed.

 

“The day is ours for the taking,” Eliot breathed into Quentin’s ear as his hand slipped below Quentin’s waist band and-

 

“Oh, hey, I just had an idea,” Quentin pulled away slightly from Eliot’s lips. “What if we went to that art museum you really like?”

 

“Really, Q?” Eliot raised a playful eyebrow. “I  _ literally _ have my hand around your  _ dick _ and you’re talking about  _ art museums _ -”

 

“I mean, it was just an idea,” Quentin said with the most  _ delightful _ grin on his face.

 

Eliot matched it. “So you  _ don’t  _ want me to give you a handjob?” 

 

“Oh, no, I  _ definitely _ want that- _ “ _

 

“Because I don’t have to do  _ this- _ ” Eliot stroked Quentin’s dick and brought a moan out of his partner. “-if you’d rather talk about art museums,” 

 

“You little  _ shit _ ,” Quentin laughed, threading his fingers through Eliot’s hair and tugging him closer. And Eliot laughed as their mouths clashed together in a very sloppy and half-awake way.

 

And Eliot had a very scary thought, in that moment of lazy morning kisses.

 

And then lazy morning sex.

 

And then lazy morning showers.

 

And lazy morning making breakfast together.

 

And lazy morning getting dressed.

 

And that scary thought was that he wanted  _ more _ of those lazy mornings.

 

In fact, he wanted  _ all _ of his mornings to involve waking up next to Quentin.

 

And that was a terrifying thought, indeed.

 

Because Eliot’s feelings for Quentin were stronger than anything he’d felt for anyone else before. 

 

And it  _ scared _ Eliot.

 

Because how did he know that what he was feeling was  _ really _ .....

 

And if it  _ was _ what he thought it was....

 

And what if Quentin didn’t.....

 

_ Ugh. _

 

None of Eliot’s thoughts were coherent enough to actually process.

 

And Eliot knew that  _ whatever _ he was feeling, he was still unsure about it. 

 

And he wasn’t ready for any kind of confession or.... 

 

Whatever.

 

So he gently pushed his thoughts to the side and promised them that he would come back to them later, maybe after Carol closed.

 

And Eliot Waugh went to the art museum with his boyfriend.

 

The art museum in the downtown of their college town was a place that Eliot had been many times, for classes or with Margo or by himself on rainy days. He knew all of the regular pieces by name and going to the museum was like going home, or hitting the reset button on his soul.

 

But Quentin had never gone. Which, to be fair, he’d been doing double duty with Peter and Christmas Carol this semester, so he hadn’t had a lot of free time.

 

So, the real treat of going to the art museum was that Eliot got to see Quentin experience it for the first time. And, because they went in the middle of a Monday, no one else was there.

 

In a comfortable and content silence, Quentin and Eliot held hands and walked around the museum. 

 

And as Quentin tugged them up close to each sculpture with wide eyes,

 

And as Quentin stared in awe at the old impressionist paintings,

 

And as Quentin grinned at the modern abstract paintings,

 

And as Quentin took in every painting and piece of art that Eliot held dear to his chest with a soft and excited smile on his face,

 

Eliot only had eyes for Quentin.

 

And his heart fluttered in his chest like someone had released a cage of butterflies.

 

Getting to share something that meant so much to him with Quentin, and make new memories in one of his favorite places with someone that he…

 

It resurrected all of those feelings in his chest and brought a very specific word to the forefront of his heart and three little words to the tip of his tongue.

 

But not yet. 

 

Doubt still clouded his mind. 

 

Was it too soon? 

 

Had they moved too fast?

 

How could he be sure?

 

Eliot had never been in…..

 

He’d never felt like this before.

 

But the same question over and over in his head:

 

When did you  _ know? _

 

He tried to not let his doubt and fear swallow him whole throughout the week.

 

He tried to focus solely on the warm feeling in his chest that was brought on merely by Quentin’s existence within a five foot radius of him, processing it and trying to figure out what it  _ truly  _ was.

 

On Tuesday, when the whole gang came over to the cottage for a midday barbecue, and Quentin kissed his check as Eliot poked at their burgers, the feeling grew.

 

On Wednesday, when Eliot, Quentin, Julia and Margo went bowling, and Quentin celebrated all of his victories  _ (because Quentin was surprisingly good at bowling?) _ by finding some way to touch Eliot: a kiss, a high five, a slap to the ass and so on, the feeling grew.

 

On Thursday, when all the theatre majors still came over to the Cottage after the show for poker night, and Quentin kicked all of their asses with a confident grin, the feeling grew.

 

On Friday, when Quentin and Eliot went to the gay bar downtown after the show for a Date Night, and they we able to openly hold hands and kiss in a public place that they felt safe, the feeling grew.

 

On Saturday, when Eliot and Quentin and Margo and Alice lazily laid across the couches in the Cottage, watching movies and eating snacks and cuddling with their partners, when Quentin dozed off with his head in Eliot’s lap while Eliot ran his fingers through Quentin’s hair, the feeling grew.

 

And then Sunday was closing.

 

Eliot has opened and closed a multitude of shows in the last four years. He didn’t always get emotional, but sometimes a show hit deeply and letting it go was hard.

 

This was one of those shows.

 

Not only was this his last Christmas Carol at the Chatwin Theatre as a student, but he’d gotten quite attached to this show and the company he ran it with. It was a special show, touching his whole heart and soul in the way only theatre could.

 

The Eliot of the Past  _ (the High King of Heartbreaks, if you will) _ might have scoffed at the idea of crying at a closing. “Close one and open another,” he might have said. 

 

But now, he was sad to close this show and not afraid to admit it.

 

From the opening number, he knew that he was going to get choked up before it was over. 

 

But he kept it together relatively well throughout the first act.

 

But he still had to get through the Breakup Scene.

 

As usual, Eliot spent the moments before he rushed on stage getting in the headspace for a knockdown, drag out fight for the love of his life. It was a difficult task, to start the scene already at 80% just to blast himself to 100% in a matter of minutes, but it was one he’d gotten quite good at accomplishing. 

 

Because he had a good emotional reservoir to pull from. 

 

Well, ever since the panic attack he had during rehearsals a few weeks ago, Eliot had worked hard to keep up an emotional wall to keep him from spiraling too deep into his head while performing the Break Up Scene.

 

But with it being closing, and after having spent a whole week with Quentin and reflecting on his feelings, his emotional wall was  _ way _ down.

 

So there was no telling how it was going to go.

 

That night, it only took a flash of a memory of the fight with Quentin at the Kitty Cat Party-

 

_ (“What the fuck is your problem, Eliot?”) _

 

-to ignite the fire in his chest and to give him a place to leap off from.

 

It started out normal.

 

Victoria stormed on first, from stage left, with Eliot chasing after her.

 

“Belle, Jacob and I run a business, not a charity,” Eliot called out, exasperated.

 

Victoria swiveled around to him. “But why must they vacate on Christmas Eve? An unfortunate family with nowhere to go?”

 

_ Except... _ .

 

Eliot pressed his hands together. “If one cannot meet one’s financial obligations, then one must accept the consequences. After all, who is the injured party?” He gestured to himself. “I am. Whenever I borrow, I pay on the nail.”

 

“And so you collect on the nail as well,” Victoria snapped at him, turning away.

 

The fire in his chest was still growing.

 

“Yes! And I’m proud to say so!” Eliot sighed, and ran a hand over his face. “Belle, when we’re married, will we not have substantial expenses? I want to provide us with a certain quality of life.” He stepped towards her, with his hands on his chest, voice strained. “I want us to be happy,” He moved past her, crossing stage right. “Now, Jacob is waiting for us at the Fox and Hound-”

 

“Ebenezer,” Victoria cut him off. “When we are married, will the quality of our life be measured by our expenses?”

 

Eliot growled. “Belle. Not  _ again _ ,”

 

And the memories in the back of his head kept begging to rise to the surface.

 

Victoria crossed her arms. “Are those the scales on which our happiness will be weighed?”

 

“You’re speaking nonsense, and it’s unfair!” Eliot cried, frustrated, annoyed, and embarrassed. “There’s nothing the world is so hard on as poverty, and yet there’s nothing the world so roundly condemns as the honest pursuit of wealth,”

 

Victoria shook her head, and looked him up and down with watery eyes. “You fear the world too much, Ebenezer,”

 

All the air sucked out of his chest.

 

Another flash of a memory, Quentin’s voice.

 

_ (“All I’ve ever tried to do is get closer to you-”)  _

 

“ _ What _ ?” Eliot cried. 

 

“Is it the honest pursuit of wealth, or just another way to keep the world at arms length?” Victoria accused.

 

_ (“-and you keep pushing me away!”) _

 

“Belle, _please,_ ” Eliot stepped towards her. “If I’ve grown wiser in the ways of the world, what then? I am not changed towards you!” His voice raised in volume.

 

And Victoria matched it. “But you are. You are! An idol has displaced me!”

 

Eliot threw his hands up. “What idol?”

 

“A golden one!” Victoria cried.

 

Eliot turned away, crossing down stage left, chest heaving.

 

Flashes of painful, stupid memories-

 

_ (Eliot snatched his sliced arm away from Quentin’s hand) _

 

-came flooding through the cracks in his wall. 

 

_ Fuck. _

 

His emotional wall had been too far down.

 

And he’d gotten too deep in his head. 

 

His eyes stung.

 

He blinked heavily.

 

“Ebenezer, forgive me,” Victoria drew in a shaky breath and composed herself. “I have been slow to speak my heart. Not because my love for you blinded me, but because I trusted too deeply in that love,” She said the lines slowly.

 

But there was also something deeper than just flashes of memories past.

 

_ (“Just for tonight, can we pretend that everything’s okay?”) _

 

Eliot’s face twisted and crumbled. “Jacob is waiting!”

 

There was a fear.

 

“And so, I kept my silence these past two years while I’ve watched your nobler aspirations fall from you one by one, till your every conversation--your every thought I fear,” Victoria said, wiping tears off her cheeks, and her face turned sour. “--is of assets. Advantages, profits, and wealth.” 

 

Fear of the future.

 

She stepped closer to him, just barely upstage right of him. “Ebenezer, is that the man you now aspire to be?”

 

_ (“Where does Quentin fall into that plan?”) _

 

Eliot snapped towards her, his back to the audience. “What is that you mean to say?”

 

Their Scrooge crossed upstage of the pair, around the bench and lamp post on the set, and mirrored Eliot’s position on the other side of Victoria. “You know what she means to say,” The old man cried.

 

_ (“We are done, Eliot,”) _

 

Victoria looked down at the prop shilling ring on her finger, and drew in another shaky breath. “Our contract is an old one,” She said, holding back tears, “When it was made, you were another man,”

 

Eliot and their Scrooge rotated at the same time so that they were on the same level as Victoria, on opposite sides of her, and cried at the same time: “I was a  _ boy _ !”

 

_ (“We can blame it on Dionysus,”) _

 

“You are not now what you were then! I am!” Victoria gestured between them. “I have not changed! But if....this new life is what you truly desire,” Victoria shook her head. “If it will cheer and comfort you in the time to come, as I would have tried to do,” A sob escaped her. “Then I have no just cause to grieve,”

 

“Spirit, I cannot bear this, I cannot!” Scrooge ran to their Ghost of Christmas Past.

 

Eliot squeezed his eyes tight and tried to steady his breathing.

 

_ (“You wouldn’t know a good thing if it bit you on the ass!”) _

 

It wasn’t going well for him.

“How often, how keenly, how painfully I have thought upon this...” Victoria tried to compose herself again, wiping her nose with her sleeve and shaking her head. 

 

His breath was ragged and his hands were shaking.

 

“I will not say. But I have thought upon it,” She raised her chin and looked Eliot dead in the eyes. “And feel it best to release you,”

 

_ He didn’t want release. _

 

Eliot’s face absolutely _ crumpled. _ “Have I ever sought release?” His voice raised and cracked.

 

“In words, no, never,”

 

_ He didn’t want to lose Quentin. _

 

“In  _ what, _ then?!” Eliot shouted.

 

He was surprised at the feeling of tears on his cheeks.

 

“In a changed nature!” Victoria shouted back. “In an altered spirit, in everything that made my love of any worth or value in your sight!”

 

Scrooge dashed upstage of the pair, frantically looking back and forth between them. “Belle, please, all he needs is more time-”

 

_ He just needed more time with Quentin in his arms. _

 

“Look at me, Ebenezer,” Victoria held out her arms. “And answer from your heart,” She dropped her arms and stepped in closer to Eliot. “If you were free today, as you were two years ago, would you still try to win me? A girl with no inheritance, no social standing, and no desire to sell happiness for success?”

 

_ But what if Quentin didn’t feel the same way? _

 

She tried to reach for his hand, but he stepped back, clenched his jaw and delivered the line: “If you wish to break our contract. If you seek a release from our agreement,” He drew in a shaky breath. “I grant it,”

 

“Coward!” Scrooge cried, “It’s you who seeks release, not she! Can’t you tell her the truth?”

 

_ What if Eliot couldn’t handle something real? _

 

“I shall always remember with a full heart the love I carried for the man you once were.” Victoria’s voice cracked, “You may have pain from this. But I know if it will last a very brief time and you will dismiss the recollection of it gladly, as an unprofitable dream from which it happened well that you awoke,”

 

_ What if Quentin left him? _

 

Victoria, with shaking hands, took the shilling ring off of her finger, and held it out to Eliot.

 

_ What if Eliot fucked it up just like he’d fucked up everything else? _

 

Eliot, with shaking hands, took the shilling ring from her.

 

“Wait!” Scrooge cried to deaf ears, “Belle, I was so young!”

 

His mind swirled a nasty concoction of closing night emotions and painful memories and doubts and fears and anxieties and he felt  _ dizzy _ .

 

“So, it’s done,” Victoria looked up at him. “May you be happy in this life you have chosen!” Victoria said the last half of the line partially over her shoulder as she ran off into the wings.

 

And Eliot stood center stage, staring at the shilling ring, damn near hyper-ventilating, trying to compose himself as sobs rose to the surface.

 

“Stop her, you fool! You’ll never see her again! She still loves you!” Scrooge circled around him, practically shouting in Eliot’s ear. “Do you want to be alone?”

 

_ No. _

 

“Is that what you want?”

 

_ Please, no. _

 

“Is that what you want?!”

 

_ Please,  _ **_God_ ** _ , no. _

 

Eliot stared down at the shilling ring, trying to swallow down another sob.

 

He just had to say one more word and then he could fling himself offstage.

 

There was no anger left in him, there was barely any breath left in him.

 

His _ “Humbug!” _ wasn’t filled with a fiery rage like it was probably supposed to be, it was a  _ broken _ word that he choked out between heaving sobs before spinning on his heel and dashing offstage.

 

His hands were shaking

 

And he felt nauseous

 

And the world went spinny.

 

He needed to get off stage.

 

_ No, he needed- _

 

He needed to sit down.

 

_ No, he needed- _

 

He needed  _ Quentin. _

 

Because no matter how nasty the swirling of thoughts and doubts and fears were at the moment, the swelling in his chest for his boyfriend and the desire for Quentin’s comfort in the middle of his panic attack was  _ stronger _ .

 

With frantic eyes, he searched the darkness for his partner.

 

And he managed to choke out a “ _ Quentin?”  _ just barely above a whisper.

 

“Eliot,” Quentin’s voice called out in the darkness, “El, I’m right here,”

 

His eyes adjusted to the darkness just in time to see Quentin, soft eyes Quentin, rushing towards him with open arms.

 

The next few moments were a blur.

 

Eliot clung tightly to Quentin and could vaguely sense that he was being led away from the stage by Quentin’s firm grasp. Eliot couldn’t hear anything other than Quentin whispering  _ “I’ve got you, El,”  _ in his ear and he barely noticed that they had made it into the prop closet until he was suddenly sitting down on a chair and Quentin was shutting the door behind them.

 

Quentin ripped his headset off and was kneeling in front of Eliot in seconds, one hand going to the back of Eliot’s neck and the other going to his thigh.

 

Eliot anchored himself in Quentin’s touch.

 

He pressed his forehead into Quentin’s shoulder and just  _ breathed _ .

 

In and out.

 

In and out.

 

In and out.

 

In and out.

 

In and out.

 

And when his heart rate slowed down, he pulled up off of Quentin’s tear stained shoulder to see his boyfriend’s worried expression.

 

“What do you need, El?” Quentin asked, his hands still firmly planted on Eliot.

 

Eliot wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. 

 

“A water and a moment alone, please?" He answered, truthfully. 

 

So Quentin nodded, squeezed his thigh, and then slipped out of the room.

 

And Eliot pressed his face into his hands.

 

And he breathed.

 

In and out.

 

In and out.

 

In and out.

 

In and out.

 

In and out.

 

And he forced his concoction of nasty thoughts and emotions to stop swirling and his mind to go quiet.

 

And he breathed.

 

A few minutes later, he heard a soft knocking at the door of the prop closet, and knowing that it was Quentin, called out a  _ “Come in,”  _ and Quentin slipped back in, holding a bottle of water and with a hesitant look on his face.

 

“Are you okay?” Quentin asked, leaning against the door, his voice gentle.

 

Eliot nodded, and Quentin held out the water. Eliot accepted it with a grateful look and took a few swigs.

 

His heart rate had calmed down back to an almost normal speed, but his hands were still shaking. 

 

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Quentin asked.

 

“Yeah, um,” Eliot bit his lip, “I just got too deep in my own head. I overwhelmed myself,”

 

Quentin nodded, understanding. “Are you going to be able to do the rest of the show?”

 

“Yes,” He didn’t even have to think about that one. 

 

He’d be fine in a moment, and then he’d change into his Top of Two costume.

 

Quentin bit his lip. “Do you need more alone time before act two?”

 

“No,” Eliot said, quickly. He softly held out his hand. “Don’t go,”

 

Quentin almost looked relieved, and then sank back down to his knees and took Eliot’s hand into his own. And Eliot was grateful for the contact.

 

He pressed his forehead into the crook of Quentin's neck and closed his eyes.

 

He didn’t allow anymore painful memories to flit across his mind or his father’s words about how no one would ever love him to rattle his brain or his fears about what the future would hold to echo within the caverns of his chest.

 

He focused on what was  _ real _ .

 

And he focused on what was right in front of him.

 

And that was Quentin. Sweet Quentin who was running his finger tips up and down his forearm, tracing the line of his scar and grounding Eliot in reality.

 

Quentin’s headset was still slung around his neck, and Eliot could hear Margo’s voice through it say: “We’re five minutes to places, Q,”

 

Eliot sighed, squeezed Quentin’s hand, and sat up. “I should go get into my next costume.” 

 

Quentin nodded, stood up, and  helped Eliot up off of the chair. 

 

And then Quentin’s eyes lit up, and he reached into his apron.

 

“Do you want a mint?” Quentin asked, pulling a peppermint out of his apron pocket. “Might help you feel better,”

 

And that was it.

 

All of Eliot’s fears and anxieties and doubts washed away, leaving behind only one singular feeling. 

 

That was  _ the  _ moment.

 

That was the moment Eliot  _ knew _ .

 

He loved Quentin.

 

“El?” Quentin raised an innocent eyebrow. 

 

Eliot was frozen with wide eyes.

 

“Do you want the mint, or...”

 

His breath caught in his throat.

 

_ I love you. _

 

“Yes,” Eliot blinked. “Mint, yes, thank you,”

 

_ I love you. _

 

Quentin beamed and passed him the mint, and opened the door to the prop closet. “Just let me know if you need anything else during the show, okay?”

 

_ I love you. _

 

“Thank you, Q,” Eliot said, “For being here for me,”

 

_ I love you. _

 

Quentin gave him a soft smile as they made their way into the green room. “Of course, El. It’s what I’m here for,”

 

_ I love you. _

 

“Maybe later tonight we can watch  _ Newsies _ again _?” _ Quentin said over his shoulder, pushing through the Green Room door.

 

_ I love you _ .

 

“That sounds great. We can break out that new tub of ice cream,” Eliot smiled, slipping past him and going towards the dressing rooms.

 

_ I love you. _

 

“Hey, wait,” Quentin grabbed Eliot’s hand and tugged him back. And there, in front of everyone in the Green Room, he gave Eliot a swift and tender kiss.

 

_ I love you. _

 

Everyone in the Green Room whooped at the kiss, and Quentin pulled away with a sly grin. “Call that a good luck charm for Act Two,”

 

_ I love you _ .

 

Eliot squeezed Quentin’s hand tightly and shared a tender smile with him before slipping into the dressing rooms to get into his act two costume.

 

And Eliot was breathless.

 

And a little woozy.

 

And his skin felt tingly.

 

But it wasn’t because of the panic attack.

 

It was because he was in love.

 

He was  _ in  _ love.

 

He was in  _ love! _

 

Eliot Fucking Waugh was in  _ love _ with Quentin Makepeace Coldwater.

 

He  _ loved _ him.

 

Now he just had to find the courage to say it.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	23. Winter Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the conclusion of Act Four: Soft.

“Margo, I love him,”

 

Margo blinked and raised an eyebrow. “The fuck are you talking about, El?”

 

Closing had been the day before, and everyone was getting ready to head home for the holidays. Quentin and Julia were currently out Christmas shopping for the Coldwater and Wicker parents respectively, and Eliot had burst in on Margo seconds ago as she packed her suitcase to her journey back to the Hanson residence.

 

Eliot was staying at the Cottage over break.

 

He didn’t mind.

 

Better than going to his parent’s house. 

 

“I _ love  _ him,” Eliot repeated, fully coming into the room.

 

Margo shoved more clothes in her suitcase. “Who, Quentin?”

 

“Yes,  _ obviously. _ Margo, I  _ love  _ him,” Eliot said it like it was the most wonderful news in the world.

 

Because it was.

 

Margo was less impressed. 

 

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, what’s new?”

 

Eliot shook his head and grabbed Margo by the shoulders, gently turning her to him.

 

And he looked her dead in the eyes.

 

“ _ Bambi,”  _  Eliot said, hoping his face was convey his pleading alongside his tone.  “I’m trying to be real with you right now. This isn’t the time for an  _ “I told you so”  _ or teasing. This is a  _ big _ deal to me,” Eliot inhaled, and then said once more: “I  _ love _ him,”

 

Margo’s hard, glossy armor dropped away, and she nodded. “Okay, you’re right, I’m sorry,” 

 

Eliot exhaled, and moved his hands from her shoulders to taking her hands.

 

“So, you love him,” Margo smiled in a rare moment of Margo Affection. “Are you freaking out about that?”

 

“No,” Eliot said with surprising ease.

 

Margo nodded. “Good. Have you told him yet?”

 

“No,” Eliot said with a little more hesitation.

 

Margo made a face. “Then why are you telling  _ me _ first?”

 

Eliot’s eyes flicked around the room.

 

He took a deep breath.

 

“I don’t know  _ how _ to tell him,” He confessed.

 

A sly grin slipped onto Margo’s face. “And so you came to ask the King of Scheming for help?”

 

“What? No,” Eliot frowned. “I came to you because you’re my best friend. How did you tell Alice that you loved her?”

 

And then a  _ look _ passed across Margo’s face that Eliot instantly recognized.

 

Embarrassment.

 

“Margo,” Eliot squeezed her hands, “Have you not told Alice that you loved her?”

 

Margo looked at her shoes and mumbled something Eliot couldn’t quite hear.

 

And when he asked her to repeat herself, she huffed.

 

“I’m not sure that I  _ love  _ her,” Margo mumbled, pulling away from Eliot’s hands and going back to her packing. 

 

“Oh,” Eliot said. “Well, sometimes it takes a while to be able to say it out loud-”

 

“No, El,” Margo looked up at the ceiling, “I mean, I’m not sure that Alice fits into my plan the way that Quentin fits into yours,”  There was a sharp edge to her tone. She shook her head. “Sorry, this is about you and Q right now-”

 

“No, it can wait,” Eliot said, sitting on the edge of her bed. “Tell me what’s going on?”

 

Margo turned to her closet and began pulling dresses off the hangers.

 

“I just feel like our relationship has an expiration date,” She said, her back turned to Eliot, and he knew that she was just wanting to hide her expression. “I’m graduating and moving to New York in the spring. I’m not ready to be tied down and Alice doesn’t want to do long distance. So is there even a point to all of it?”

 

“It sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought,” Eliot said as Margo sloppily shoved her dresses in her suitcase. “If all that is the case, why haven’t you broken up with her, yet?”

 

Margo’s hands stilled. “Delaying the inevitable, I guess. I’m not quite ready to let her go.” She sighed, “I don’t know, it’s complicated,” She gave Eliot a look so fucking  _ soft _ that he almost didn’t recognize it on her face. “We can’t all be as lucky as you and Quentin,”

 

Eliot reached out and gently took her hand. “I’ve got your back, no matter what, Bambi,”

 

Margo bit her lip, and nodded. “I know, El,” Then she shook her head and turned back to Eliot with her hand on her hip. “But right now I’d  _ much _ rather help you have your fairy tale moment with your man. So let’s get to scheming,”

 

Eliot made a face. “Maybe we don’t have to call it scheming?”

 

“I said what I said, Eliot,”

 

Quentin and Julia came home later that afternoon, banging the front door open and interrupting Margo’s scheming and Eliot’s ticket buying.

 

“Honey, we’re home!” Julia called.

 

“In the kitchen,” Margo responded as Eliot quickly closed the lid of his laptop.

 

Quentin came rushing into the kitchen with arm loads of bags and a wide grin on his face.

 

“Hey, babe,” Quentin grinned, “Wait ‘til you see what I got,”

 

And Eliot tried very hard  _ not _ to blush, because that was  _ definitely _ the first time Quentin had called him “babe.” And Eliot quite liked it.

 

_ I love you. _

 

And then his boyfriend pulled out two small rectangular objects from one of the bags.

 

It was two vintage pieces of decor: paintings on wooden planks.

 

One of peaches.

 

One of plums.

 

And Quentin had the biggest fucking grin on his face that Eliot had ever seen.

 

“Get it?” Quentin placed them down on the table in front of Eliot and lazily ran his hand over Eliot’s shoulders. “Peaches and plums?”

 

“Yes, baby. I get it,” Eliot laughed, and squeezed Quentin’s hand on his shoulder.

 

_ I love you _ .

 

“They’re perfect,” Eliot grinned, picking them up and admiring them.

 

Margo, on the other hand, was less amused.

 

“I don’t get it,” She raised an eyebrow. “It’s just fruit,”

 

Quentin responded by winking at her and carrying the paintings to the kitchen.

 

Eliot swatted at his ass as he went, and Quentin sent another grin over his shoulder.

 

_ I love you. _

 

And Margo rolled her eyes.

 

“We also got all of our Christmas shopping done,” Julia grinned. “I’d show you what I got for Kady, but I don’t think you want to see it,”

 

Eliot said “I  _ definitely _ don’t,” at the same time that Margo said “I  _ definitely _ do.”

 

So, Julia grabbed one of her bags and Margo by the hand and the girls went giggling up the stairs.

 

“Have a good time shopping?” Eliot asked with an amused smile.

 

“Sure did. And check out what I got my dad,” Quentin said, pulling out a hefty book and passing it to Eliot. It was a complete history of Ancient Roman History.

 

He flipped through it. “How very Straight White Middle Aged Man,”

 

Quentin laughed. “Exactly. He’s gonna love it,” Eliot passed the book back, and Quentin kissed his temple before going back to his shopping bags.

 

_ I love you.  _

“I just feel bad that you’re going to be spending the break here all by yourself,” Quentin threw over his shoulder.

 

Eliot shrugged. “It’s not that big a deal,”

 

Quentin didn’t look satisfied with that answer.

 

“Do you....” Quentin rested his palms on the kitchen counter, and looked at Eliot. “Do you want to come home with me for the holidays?”

 

The usual warmth that came along with Quentin’s thoughtfulness flooded through Eliot.

 

_ I love you. _

 

“As much as I appreciate that,” Eliot said with a genuine and sweet smile, standing up from his chair and making his way to Quentin. “I won’t be  _ really  _ alone. Fen and Marina are coming over on Christmas Day and I’ve got plans with some other people.  _ Also _ ,” Eliot’s hands found their natural place on Quentin’s hips. “I don’t know that we’ve been dating long enough for me to meet your parents,”

 

“Oh,” Quentin clasped his hands behind Eliot’s back. “That’s probably accurate,”

 

“Now, that’s not to say that I  _ never _ want to meet your parents,” Eliot brushed Quentin’s hair out of his face. “I just don’t think we’re there yet,”

 

Quentin sighed and nodded, but he didn’t look upset. 

 

And Eliot found himself strangely grateful that they were having a very casual conversation about something serious in their relationship. 

 

They’d been getting better at the whole communication thing. 

 

_ I love you _ .

 

“I guess that’s fair. We’ve only been dating for...”

 

“A little over two months,” Eliot finished. “So maybe not  _ quite _ at Meet the Parents, yet,” 

 

Quentin nodded, and gave Eliot a sheepish smile. “Okay, I just thought I’d at least offer,” He nestled his head into Eliot’s chest. 

 

“And I appreciate it deeply, baby,” Eliot kissed the top of his head. “But I’ll be fine. I promise,” He pushed lightly at Quentin’s shoulders and looked him in the eys. “Now, the day before you leave for break, I wanna take you out,”

 

Quentin raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

 

“Like, not just any old date, but a  _ Fancy Date _ ,” Eliot booped Quentin’s nose. “I’ll take care of all the details and reservations, all you have to do is say yes,”

 

“Yes,” Quentin answered immediately, and Eliot couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him.

 

But Quentin just grinned  _ wickedly _ . “Come on, you know I like it when you take charge,”

 

“Oh, _ baby, _ ” Eliot backed him up against the counter. “I  _ know _ ,”

 

_ I love you. _

 

Their  _ (extremely steamy)  _ kiss was cut off by Margo and Julia rejoining them.

 

But that was okay.

 

There would be many more kisses to come.

 

For their Fancy Date, Eliot had gotten them tickets to see the touring production of  _ Once _ that was in town, and dinner reservations at an  _ actual _ restaurant downtown, not just the Neitherlands Cafe. 

 

And the plan was that at dinner, Eliot was going to tell Quentin that he loved him.

 

And it was going to be romantic as fuck.

 

And it was going to be perfect, because he had the whole thing plotted out, speech and all. 

 

And then, the day of their Big Fancy Date, it snowed.

 

It had flurried at Brakebills a couple times over the last few weeks as the months had gotten colder, but nothing like this dump of snow that closed the roads and turned their world into a winter wonderland overnight. 

 

Eliot woke up that day to Quentin excitedly shaking him awake and babbling about the snow. And he could only sit up on his elbows with a dazed grin as his boyfriend flung himself around the room trying to find clothes to go play in the snow. 

  
  


Yes,  _ play _ in the  _ snow. _

 

“El, get your ass out of bed!” Quentin smacked him with a pillow. “It’s snow time!”

 

A laugh bubbled out of Eliot’s chest.

 

_ I love you _ .

 

“Alright, I’m up, I’m up,” He said, joining Quentin on the hunt for suitable attire for a snow day. 

 

Several layers and a text from Margo saying she was stranded at Alice’s place later, Quentin was dragging Eliot out the front door by the hand with a giddy smile on his face. 

 

“Come on, babe!” Quentin launched himself into the snow and immediately shoved his gloved hands into the fluff. “Let’s build a snowman!”

 

Eliot grinned, and sang: “ _ Do you wanna build a _ -”

 

Before he could get farther in the song, Quentin threw a snowball at him, effectively silencing him. Eliot’s jaw comically dropped, and Quentin simply wiggled his eyebrows.

 

Thus began the snowball fight. 

 

Quentin, though eager and enthusiastic, had terrible aim and structure to his weapons. 

 

Eliot, on the other hand, was  _ fantastic _ at making snowballs and had done a brief stint in little leagues growing up, so he easily won and insisted his victory prize was a kiss. 

 

And Quentin gave him a sloppy and enthusiastic kiss to the cheek, leaving them both in stitches laughing with and at each other, covered in snow.

 

_ I love you. _

 

And  _ then _ they built a snowman, no singing involved. 

 

Their snowman was a little lopsided and had broken branches for arms and wore a Brakebills scarf around its neck, and Quentin admired it proudly while tucked under Eliot’s arm.

 

_ I love you. _

 

And then they made snow angels, and laughed at how much smaller Quentin’s was to Eliot’s.

 

_ I love you _ .

 

And then they took a brief hot coco break, with Eliot as the barista, making sure to put extra marshmallows and a dash of cinnamon in Quentin’s drink, just the way he liked it.

 

_ I love you. _

 

And then they went back into the snow, this time the backyard, which was untouched by their previous snow adventures, this time, Eliot tugging Quentin by the hand excitedly.

 

_ I love you. _

 

And as they entered the magical winter wonderland of their backyard, the snow picked up again. Snowflakes danced in the air, and Quentin had the most joyful look on his face that Eliot had ever seen. He was giddy and  _ happy _ and it made Eliot’s heart grow three sizes.

 

_ I love you _ .

 

And then Quentin stuck out his tongue to catch snowflakes on it.

 

“I love you,”

 

It slipped out of Eliot’s mouth so suddenly that he hadn’t realized he was going to say it until it had already rolled off his tongue. 

 

Quentin’s head snapped to Eliot, eyebrows skyrocketing.

 

And for a moment, Eliot didn’t know what to do.

 

The Eliot of the Past might have said  _ “Just kidding!” _ or “ _ It’s okay if you don’t say it back.”  _

 

And no, this hadn’t been in his grand plan of a candle lit dinner in fancy suits and prepared speeches.

 

But with the snow falling around them in their ridiculous amounts of layers and Quentin’s wide eyes locked with his own, Eliot had never been more sure of anything in his life.

 

He felt....

 

_ Brave. _

 

So he said it again, and said it like he  _ meant it. _

 

“I  _ love _ you,” Eliot said.

 

And then Quentin was crossing to him like he _ meant it  _ and before Eliot knew it, Quentin was kissing him, stretched up on his tiptoes and wrapping one his hands around the back of Eliot’s neck and bringing the other hand up to Eliot’s face like they were in a goddamned  _ romcom. _

 

It was a  _ deep _ kiss. 

 

And it was a  _ sure _ kiss. 

 

And it knocked all the air out of Eliot’s chest.

 

“Oh!” Quentin pulled away, his hands finding their natural place on Eliot’s chest. “I love you, too,” 

 

Quentin was breathless, and he was smiling and looking up at Eliot like he hung the moon.

 

And Eliot kissed him again, wrapping his hand around the back of Quentin’s neck and pulling him close. 

 

And they kissed like idiots in love, the snow falling slowly around them.

 

And it was better than anything Eliot could have ever dreamed of. 

 

And it was romantic as  _ fuck. _

 

And when they finally pulled away, breathless and dazed and pressing their foreheads together, Eliot wanted to confess his love all over again.

 

And so he did.

 

“I love you,” He said, gently swiping his thumb over Quentin’s cheek.

 

“I  _ love _ you,” Quentin said back, like it was the most wonderful thing in the world.

 

Because it was.   
  


It really, truly, was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Act Five: Love. 
> 
> For the record, Act Five can also be thought of as the Epilogue, as this chapter has served as the climax of the story and where the original conclusion had planned on being. But Quentin and Eliot's story isn't over yet. They've still got a whole lifetime ahead of them. Stick around to see it unfold. :)


	24. Graduation

Eliot’s graduation was on a Saturday.

 

Well, it was also Margo, Penny, Fen, and Josh’s graduation.

 

But Quentin was mostly thinking about Eliot.

 

Because Margo, Penny, Fen, and Josh’s families were all coming up to Brakebills for graduation, and Eliot’s family had declined the invitation.

 

Eliot had tried to pretend like it wasn’t a big deal when he’d found out in front of Quentin and Margo at the Cottage Kitchen table, weeks ago.

 

Then later that night, Quentin found him crying on the back porch, smoking and embarrassed. And Quentin didn’t say anything, just pulled the cigarette out of his hand, pulled Eliot’s head to his chest and held on tight while Eliot cried.

 

They didn’t talk about it, because Eliot didn’t want to. 

 

And that was okay.

 

The week before graduation, Quentin’s phone rang just as he was leaving his last final exam. 

 

“Hey, Curly Q,” The voice came through the phone.

 

Quentin grinned, pushing through the doors and stepping out into the spring sunshine. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

 

“I wanted to pick your brain for a moment,” Ted Coldwater said, “The weekend of May 10th and 11th, I’ll be up in your neck of the woods on a business trip. Got any time to spare for me?”

 

Quentin frowned. “That’s the weekend of Eliot’s graduation, Dad,”

 

“Oh, is it?” Ted asked, “Well, I’d love to meet the famous Eliot, too, if you can pull him away from his own parents for a moment. Maybe I can take you boys out to lunch?”

 

Quentin’s chest ached. “Uh, Dad, Eliot’s parents aren’t coming to his graduation,”

 

Ted paused. “They’re not?”

 

“No. They declined the invitation,”

 

Ted scoffed. “What kind of parents are too busy to come to their own kid’s college graduation?”

 

Quentin sighed. “Homophobes, Dad,”

 

There was a brief pause, and Quentin could practically hear the wheels of his Dad’s head turning.

 

“Oh,” Ted said, and then he sighed, too. “I’m sorry to hear that for him, Q. If he’s half as wonderful as you’ve described him to be, his parents are missing out on fine young man,”

 

_ God _ , Quentin really loved his Dad.

 

“Well, the offer for lunch with you two is still on the table. And.... if Eliot would like, I could also come to the graduation ceremony,”

 

Quentin stopped in his tracks in the middle of the sidewalk. “ _ Dad _ -”

 

“College graduations are special, Q,” Ted said. “And it breaks my heart to think that his own parents won’t be there to help him celebrate. I know how much Eliot means to you so..... he means something to me, too. It would be no problem at all for me to be there,”

 

Quentin was floored. “Uh, thanks, Dad. I’ll talk to him about tonight and see what he says,”

 

“Alright, just let me know. Love you, Curly Q,”

 

“Love you, too, Dad,” Quentin said as he hung up the phone.

 

And he thanked whatever higher power was listening for such a supportive father.

 

When Eliot got home from his show that night, Quentin was waiting on the couch.

 

Eliot was closing out his senior year by starring in The Chatwin Theatre’s production of  _ Catch Me If You Can _ , which was one of Eliot’s dream roles and he was  _ ridiculously _ excited about it, which was fun for Quentin to witness. 

 

Quentin wasn’t ASMing the show, because after doing double duty the previous semester, he’d decided to take the spring semester easy, working and learning in the Brakebills South Props Shop. And honestly, it was nice to be able to just go support Eliot at his shows and be the person he came home to. 

 

It was nice to just be  _ boyfriends _ and not boyfriends that  _ work together. _

 

“I need a  _ fucking _ drink,” Eliot announced the moment he stepped into the house. “I don’t know who thought it was a good idea to let  _ fucking _ Todd be the lead ASM on this show, but I want to throw a rock at them,” Eliot sighed, and dropped his backpack on the kitchen table. “Well, not like a heavy rock, because I don’t want to kill them. Just give them a nice goose egg on the head,” Eliot pulled the bottle of wine out of the fridge. “Do you want a drink, Q?” He didn’t even bother looking up at Quentin or wait for a response before he grabbed two wine glasses out of the cabinets. “I just can’t fathom how the  _ fuck _ this show has made it as far as it has with a stage management team so fucking incompetent. I mean-” Eliot poured their drinks. “-I totally respect Margo’s choice to do the first show of the semester and leave the rest of it free to do interviews for jobs and stuff-” With both wine glasses in hand, Eliot made his way over to the couch where Quentin was waiting. “-but  _ God _ we could have really used her skills on this shows. Or yours. Or Kady’s. Or Fen’s. Or anyone’s. But instead-” Eliot plopped unceremoniously on the couch and handed Quentin his wine glass. “-we got fucking  _ Todd _ and Josh Hoberman and Poppy  _ Fucking _ Kline and they’re all  _ useless _ and just  _ bad _ at stage managing and I want to bang my head against the wall every time I have to interact with one of them,” 

 

Eliot took a large gulp of his wine, and Quentin saw his chance in the silence.

 

“So, my dad wants to come to your graduation,”

 

Eliot choked on his wine.

 

Quentin tried not to laugh as he rubbed circles on his coughing boyfriend’s back.

 

“Your dad wants to  _ what?” _ Eliot sputtered out.

 

Quentin’s hand wandered from Eliot’s back down to his thigh. “He’s going to be in town for a business thing, and when I told him it was graduation weekend, he asked if you wanted him to come to the actual graduation,”

 

Quentin couldn’t quite read the look on Eliot’s face. 

 

Eliot looked at the floor. “Did you tell him about my parents?”

 

“Yeah,”

 

Eliot nodded. 

 

Quentin still couldn’t read him.

 

A small part of him worried that he shouldn’t have asked about it at all.

 

“He doesn’t have to come if you don’t want him to,” Quentin said, squeezing Eliot’s thigh. “We can just do lunch with him, if you’d prefer that. But I would like you to meet him,”

 

Eliot cleared his throat, and brought his gaze back up to Quentin’s. “He  _ really _ offered to come to graduation?”

 

A soft feeling brushed through Quentin’s chest.

 

“Yeah, El,” Quentin nodded. “He really did,”

 

“He doesn’t even know me, though,” Eliot shook his head. “Why would he want to come?”

 

“I talk a lot about you,” Quentin shrugged. “And he said that if you were important to me, you were important to him,”

 

Eliot blinked heavily and cleared his throat again, looking down at his wine glass.

 

“I’d like that,” He mumbled. “For him to come to my graduation,”

 

Quentin smiled. “Really?”

 

“Yeah, really,” Eliot nodded, and then made a face like he was thinking, “But.... can I actually meet him the day before graduation, or something?” He turned back to Quentin. “I don’t want to meet your dad the  _ day _ I graduate college. That’d be too much all at once,”

 

Quentin laughed, nodded, and kissed him in response.

 

The night before graduation, Quentin and Eliot met Ted Coldwater for dinner downtown.

 

Quentin could tell that Eliot was nervous the whole way there. He was babbling nonsense and his palm was sweaty in Quentin’s hand. And when they parked in the garage, Eliot took in several deep breaths before he actually turned the car off.

 

“Hey, he’s gonna love you,” Quentin said, bumping his shoulder into Eliot’s as they walked to the restaurant, to which Eliot sent him a grateful smile. 

 

Ted Coldwater was waiting for them outside of the restaurant, and he gave Quentin a warm hug the moment he saw him. 

 

“I’ve missed you, Curly Q,” Ted said, pulling away. “Look at you, have you gotten taller?”

 

Quentin grinned, and looked at Eliot. “If anything, I should look  _ shorter _ standing next to this guy,”

 

Ted laughed, and turned his attention to the taller man. “So this is the famous Eliot, huh?”

 

“In the flesh, sir,” Eliot said, holding out his hand. 

 

But Ted Coldwater was not a handshake man. 

 

He pulled Eliot in for a tight hug, and Quentin had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at Eliot’s wide eyed and shocked expression.

 

“Good to finally meet you, son,” Ted said, still tightly hugging Eliot. “I’ve heard a lot about you,”

 

“All good things, I hope?” Eliot said, and Quentin rolled his eyes. 

 

Ted finally released Eliot and gave him a wide grin. “If anything, the trick is getting Curly Q to  _ stop _ talking about you,”

 

Quentin blushed. “ _ Dad _ ,”

 

Ted grinned. “Am I wrong?”

 

Eliot mirrored it, and swiveled to face Quentin. “Is he wrong?”

 

“You know, I’m really hungry, we should probably go inside,” Quentin grabbed Eliot’s arm and pulled, hoping his hair was covering his blush.

 

But once they were seated at their table and had ordered their food, the questionnaire began.

 

“So, do you have any post graduation plans, Eliot?”

 

“I’ve actually been accepted into the Stella Adler Studio of Acting in New York City,” Eliot beamed. “It’s a year long program, and will hopefully help me get into equity work in the city,”

 

Ted looked impressed. “That’s wonderful! And the plan is to stay in the city after that?”

 

Eliot nodded. “Yeah, I think so. The theatre scene up there has lots of opportunities,”

 

“And New York City is only a few hours from Brakebills, so it won’t be hard to visit each other,” Quentin commented, and Ted nodded.

 

“That all sounds really wonderful,” Ted said. “Are you boys prepared to do a year long distance?”

 

Quentin inhaled deeply and nodded, glancing at Eliot, who’s warm eyes were already trained on him. “Yeah. Won’t be easy, but we’ll get through it,”

 

Eliot only responded by briefly and gently touching Quentin’s arm, sending a wave of reassurance and comfort through his hand.

 

The waiter appeared with a basket of bread rolls, and Eliot hungrily dug into them.

 

Under the table, Quentin gently squeezed Eliot’s knee.

 

“So, is the new plan to move to New York after you graduate, Q?” Ted asked, grabbing one of the rolls. 

 

“I think so,” Quentin nodded, exchanging a glance with Eliot and reaching for his water glass. “That’s what we’ve talked about,”

 

Ted grinned. “I hear wedding bells in the future!”

 

Quentin choked on his water and Eliot choked on his bread roll.

 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Dad,” Quentin coughed, and he could feel the blush creeping up his neck.

 

Ted was still grinning like an idiot and Quentin wanted to kick his shins under the table.

 

The rest of dinner went by  _ much _ smoother, and Eliot eventually loosened up to the point where he lazily laid his arm across the back of Quentin’s chair and was teasing Ted about his unfortunate button up.

 

And the evening ended with more hugs exchanged between all of them.

 

Quentin soaked in Eliot’s quiet, pleased smile.

 

That night, as they crawled into bed, Eliot asked very softly: “Do you think he liked me?”

 

A smile slipped onto Quentin’s face, and he reached over to run his hand through Eliot’s soft curls. “I  _ know _ he  _ loved _ you, El,” 

 

To which, Eliot sheepishly grinned and buried his face in Quentin’s neck. 

 

And they fell asleep entwined.

 

Which, was nothing new for them.

 

But each time still felt special.

 

The actual graduation ceremony was boring as  _ fuck _ .

 

Quentin didn’t care to pay attention to the student speakers or the guest speaker because he didn’t know any of them, so he mostly played on his phone for the first half of it.

 

The Coldwaters sat next to the Hansons, and Quentin’s dad chatted idly with Margo’s dad about Straight Man things, like taxes and boats or whatever. Quentin didn’t pay attention to them. 

 

Once they got through the super boring part, there was the announcing of names and walking across the stage to receive the diploma.  Quentin didn’t know many people outside of the theatre department, so he kept his eyes on where Eliot, Margo, Penny, Fen, and Josh were sitting.

 

Well, mostly, on Eliot.

 

Always, Eliot. 

 

When Penny, and then Josh, walked across the stage, they clapped.

 

When Fen walked across the stage, they cheered.

 

When Margo crossed the stage, they cheered wildly, and Margo blew them a kiss.

 

When Eliot crossed the stage, Quentin and Ted leapt to their feet and cheered like madmen. 

 

Even from a distance, Quentin could see Eliot’s grin.

 

And afterwards, they met Eliot outside of the arena where the ceremony was held. And because Ted Coldwater is a good man, he got a picture of the moment that Quentin rushed to Eliot and pulled him into a tight hug, nearly knocking Eliot’s cap off his head.

 

And after that, Margo and her parents, Fen and her parents, Quentin, Eliot, and Ted all went out for dinner. Quentin had worried that being around the other sets of parents would make Eliot ache for his own, but there was a cheery smile on his face the entire time. 

 

At the end of the day, Ted left town with a firm hug to “both of his boys” and the city quieted down after the chaos of everyone’s families coming in for the  hellish  special day. 

 

Sunday night, after all the insanity, Quentin, Eliot, and Margo sat in the backyard of the Cottage, a small fire burning in their firepit and blankets laid out in the grass. Quentin, of course, laid with his head in his boyfriend’s lap, enjoying the soft feeling of Eliot running his fingers through his hair. 

 

And Margo sat alone on her blanket.

 

They hadn’t seen Alice all weekend.

 

Quentin and Eliot decided to wait for Margo to bring it up.

 

They sat in a relative silence for a while, enjoying the crackling of the firepit and the soft noises of the outdoors around them. Quentin nearly dozed off at one point, feeling warm and peaceful and loved underneath Eliot’s touch.

 

And then Margo cracked. 

 

“Alice and I broke up the night before graduation,” She blurted out.

 

Quentin immediately sat up on the blanket.

 

“ _ Bambi,” _ Eliot said, and Margo looked at her hands.

 

“I didn’t want to say anything before,” She mumbled. 

 

Quentin and Eliot exchanged a look. 

 

“Are you okay?” Quentin asked, and Margo sighed. 

 

“I mean, I knew it was coming,” Margo said. “But honestly....” She sighed, and looked back up at them. “No. I just had to keep it together while my parents were in town,”

 

“What do you need, Bambi?” Eliot asked, gently asked. “What can we do for you?”

 

Margo shrugged. “I don’t think there is anything you  _ can _ do. I think it’s just gonna suck for a while,”

 

“Well, at least come over here and get some snuggles from Daddy,” Eliot held out his arm, and with an eye roll, Margo crawled over and snuggled under Eliot’s arm.

 

And with Quentin under Eliot’s other arm, the three of them sat in silence, soaking in each other’s comfort, watching the fire burn.

 

And Quentin was hit was a wave of emotion, knowing that they didn’t have many more nights at the Cottage like this. Margo and Eliot were moving at the end of the summer, and leaving Quentin and the Cottage behind for their big move to the city. 

 

He tried not to think about it too much.

 

It hurt too much.

 

Most of the theatre majors stayed in town all summer.

 

Quentin, Kady, and Julia worked at the Chatwin Theatre’s kids summer camp. Eliot got a job working as a bartender. Margo started working at a local fashion boutique. And the five of them hung out whenever they could, but they were mostly busy with work.

 

July 20th was Quentin’s birthday.

 

He woke that morning to breakfast  _ (and blowjobs) _ in bed, which was a lovely awakening and a wonderful way to start off his birthday. 

 

After getting cleaned up and dressed, Eliot shoved Quentin and a bag of snacks in the front seat of his car with an excited grin.

 

“Birthday road trip?” Quentin asked as Eliot got in the driver’s seat. “Where are we going?”

 

Eliot simply wiggled his eyebrows. “Just got to wait and see, baby,”

 

The whole drive, they jammed out to the Spring Awakening and other various soundtracks. And once they actually got going on the interstate, it was easy for Quentin to put two and two together to realize that Eliot was driving them straight towards New York City.

 

Eliot had spent all summer prepping for his move, apartment hunting with Margo (who’d gotten a stage management apprenticeship at the Roundabout Theatre Company) and making several trips back and forth to the city, which hadn’t been exactly  _ easy _ for Quentin to sit through, but he’d supported Eliot’s journey every step of the way. They’d talked about it enough as a couple that Quentin was confident in their ability to do long distance, but there was still an ache in the back of Quentin’s heart.

 

His relationship with Eliot had only just  _ begun _ , and they only had a few more weeks left together before Eliot shipped off to the Big Apple, leaving Quentin behind at Brakebills. There was a certain tender ache that just came along with that fact.

 

So Quentin was a little surprised that on  _ his birthday _ , Eliot was driving him into the dreaded city.

 

They arrived in the city around lunch time, and Eliot treated them to lunch at a classic New York Pizza Parlor, but there was still no explanation as to what they were actually doing there.

 

Eliot drove them around Midtown Manhattan and the pair, being theatre nerds, excitedly pointed out all the Broadway theatres and marquee signs that they recognized and all the shows they’d go to see if they weren’t broke young twenty somethings. 

 

And still, Quentin wondered what the purpose of the visit was.

 

Eliot drove them past the Stella Adler Studio of Acting, pointing out where he’d spend the next year working and learning.

 

And still, Quentin wondered. 

 

And then, Eliot finally parked in a garage and led Quentin into a building he didn’t recognize with a sly smile. 

 

It was an apartment building.

 

A little dingy and gross and smelled slightly weird, but three flights of stairs later, Eliot unlocked one of the doors and led Quentin by the hand into a bare apartment.

 

“What do you think?” Eliot asked, gesturing to the kitchen and the living room and the two bedrooms off to the side.

 

Quentin blinked. “This place is yours?”

 

Eliot laughed, and wrapped his arm around Quentin’s shoulders. “It sure is,”

 

“I didn’t know that you and Margo had signed off on a place, yet,”

 

Eliot grinned. “I wanted to surprise you,”

 

Quentin nodded. “Well, color me surprised. The place looks great,”

 

But there was still a small voice in the back of Quentin’s mind that didn’t  _ quite _ understand why Eliot had planned out this day and this specific visit.

 

It was his  _ birthday _ . 

 

He didn’t really want to spend the day thinking how his boyfriend was about to leave and start his new life in a city four hours away from him because that was still a thought that  _ hurt. _

 

Eliot nodded to one of the rooms. “Come on, your gift is in here,”

 

The room was empty and standard, with four walls and a closet and a window with the blinds drawn. But in the center of the room sat an oversized gift bag.

 

With a curious look in Eliot’s direction, Quentin plopped himself on the ground and pulled the bag closer to him. 

 

He tore off the tissue paper and pulled out

 

A chocolate bar (his favorite kind)

 

The Complete Works of the Chatwin Siblings’ Plays

 

A photo frame

 

In the photo frame, a picture of Quentin and Eliot from Christmas Carol Opening, the one where Quentin had grabbed Eliot’s face and planted a kiss on the side of his cheek.

 

A visitor’s guide to New York City

 

A parking pass

 

And a key, on a metal peach pendant chain.

 

Quentin looked up at Eliot with wide eyes, searching his partner’s face for answers.

 

“Okay, I’ve got a whole speech prepared, so just bear with me while I get it all out,” Eliot said, kneeling down next to him. “The Chatwin Plays and the picture are your like,  _ birthday _ birthday presents,” Eliot explained. “But the other stuff...” Eliot took a deep breath. “The key and the parking pass are to this apartment. And we’re  _ here _ because...” Eliot took Quentin’s hand into his own. “I wanted to show this all to you. I wanted to  _ share _ it with you. Because, yeah, I’m leaving Brakebills for New York City, but I’m not leaving  _ you _ , Quentin,”

 

Oh, Quentin’s chest  _ ached. _

 

But in the  _ good _ kind of way.

 

“This room,” Eliot gestured around them. “It’s not just  _ my  _ room. It’s yours, too. Whenever you want to come up here, there’s a parking spot and an open door waiting for you. And,” Eliot got up from the floor and crossed to the window. He pulled the blinds open with a swift tug of the cord, and exposed the  _ breathtaking _ view of the city. “This city is yours, too,” Eliot almost looked  _ sheepish _ . “That’s why I wanted to show you around the city. So that you’d feel like you had ownership of it, too,”

 

And Quentin _ loved _ him.

 

_ Oh _ , Quentin loved him.

 

More than he’d ever loved anyone.

 

“This place,” Eliot waved his hand, “It’s not just  _ my _ future, Q. It’s  _ our _ future,” Eliot came back down to the floor, to Quentin’s level and sat down next to him. “And I wanted to make sure you knew that,”

 

_ God _ , Quentin was going to  _ cry.  _

 

A smile like sunshine filled Eliot’s face, and he gently reached over and put his hand on the back of Quentin’s neck. “ _ Especially _ on your birthday, Quentin Coldwater, I want you to know just how wonderful the future is going to be. And I want you to know how deeply loved you are,”

 

Quentin was  _ definitely _ crying now.

 

Not like, ugly crying. 

 

But there was definitely some watering happening, and he had to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand and there was lots of sniffling.

 

“ _ Eliot _ ,” Quentin breathed. “This... El, this means  _ so _ much to me. Thank you,”

 

“Of course, Q,” Eliot’s eyes and touch were gentle. “I love you,”

 

“I love you, too,” Quentin said, scooting closer to Eliot, who wrapped a strong arm around Quentin and rested his chin on Quentin’s head. 

 

“Peaches and plums,” Eliot recited their mantra.

 

“Peaches and plums,” Quentin repeated back.

 

And it was like they’d said “ _ I love you _ ” twice.

 

And the moment was perfect.

 

Quentin’s birthday was  _ perfect. _

 

When the hints of a sunset scattered across the New York City skyline, Quentin and Eliot locked the apartment door behind them and headed back to their car.

 

And they drove back to Brakebills, hand in hand, leaving the city behind them.

 

With their future ahead of them.

 

A long,  _ long  _ future ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Quentin. <3


	25. Quentin's Senior Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen I'm sick and emotional and this chapter is the result.

Quentin blinked and his senior year flew by.

 

That August, just before classes started, Julia moved from her tiny studio apartment into Margo’s old room at the Cottage. The two were practically ecstatic to be living together, the way they had always planned when they were in high school. Quentin officially moved all of his stuff into Eliot’s old room, craving at least a semblance of the comfort his boyfriend left behind. He had kind of already settled in there anyway, so it wasn’t hard for him to clear the rest of his stuff out of his old room.

 

And his old room...

 

His old room....

 

It went to Todd.

 

Originally, Alice was supposed to be the Cottage’s third housemate, but after she and Margo broke up, that didn’t seem like such a great idea. So Julia happily passed down her old studio to Alice (because that’s how life worked for theatre majors, passing leases around the department ) and their free room went to.......... 

 

Todd.

 

Quentin had desperately asked Julia if she wanted Kady to move in with them, but that idea got turned down. Not because their relationship was on the rocks or anything, because in fact the two girls were stronger as a couple than ever. And Julia said that moving in together just wasn’t right for them at the moment.

 

Well, she said “uhauling” in the actual conversation.

 

But Quentin respected it.

 

So, the spare room went to Todd.

 

_ Fucking Todd _ .

 

September was a crazy time.

 

Quentin and Kady were the two assistant stage managers on the Chatwin Theatre’s production of  _ The Crucible _ , which both of them were  _ super _ into and excited about. Henry was directing the production, and decided to take the witchy aspect a step further and lean into the magic of it. They had special effects out the ass to make the audience think that the witchcraft in it was  _ real _ , which, was a directorial choice, but it was fun.

 

It wasn’t the same as doing a show with Eliot and Margo, but he liked Kady a lot.

 

She was a good ASM, tough and strong and firm in all the places Quentin tended to be a little bit shy and nervous. And he was more gentle and compassionate with the actors and crew members, so they balanced each other out with minimal fights between them. 

 

Quentin’s semester of classes threatened to thoroughly kick him in the ass.

 

He had Advanced Scenic Design, Directing for the Stage, Professional Theatre Practices, Advanced Projection Design, The History of Western Civilization from 1500 Onwards, and Analyzing Shakespearean Text for the Modern Day. They were all challenging and project/paper heavy classes. A few weeks into the semester, Quentin already felt like he was a few months behind.

 

The class he liked the most was the Shakespeare class, because it was basically a class trying to find the homoerotic subtext in Shakespeare’s plays, so Quentin enjoyed that.

 

It was also fun for him to send articles and journals about queer theory and Shakespeare to Eliot so that they could talk about it. 

 

Quentin and Eliot tried to talk every day in one way or the other, whether it was a spam of emoji texts or Facetiming in between classes, they tried to maintain contact. There were, of course, days when they missed each other by a matter of minutes, or Quentin was so bogged down with tech and classes that he forgot to respond to Eliot’s text until it was 1am.

 

But they were making it work.

 

They didn’t get to see each other again in person until October. 

 

October 14th was their one year anniversary.

 

And it just so happened to coincide with Quentin’s fall break.

 

Margo had suggested another group cabin trip, but both Quentin and Eliot shot that idea down in favor of a couple’s weekend trip on their anniversary.

 

They did decide to go cabin style, but they rented a cute little AirBnB that was halfway between Brakebills and New York City for the weekend. The cabin was an adorable one bedroom with brightly colored shutters and sat in a clearing in the middle of the woods. 

 

When Quentin pulled up, Eliot was already there, leaning against the side of his car and scrolling on his phone. He looked up with a bright smile and a wave as Quentin put his car in park and practically threw himself out of the car.

 

“Hey, baby,” Eliot grinned. “Long time no see,” Quentin slammed his car door shut and barreled towards his boyfriend. “I haven’t been inside yet,” Eliot said, “I was waiting for you to get-”

 

He was cut off by Quentin crashing into him.

 

Quentin jumped onto Eliot and was caught with strong arms and a mighty laugh from his partner as he wrapped his legs around Eliot’s waist. Their lips collided and Eliot staggered backwards into the side of his car, grinning through Quentin’s hungry kisses. 

 

“Missed you so much,” Quentin got out between panting breaths and desperate kisses. 

 

Eliot laughed again, and squeezed Quentin’s ass. “I can tell, Coldwater,”

 

“Inside. Now,” Quentin demanded, nipping at Eliot’s jawline. 

 

Eliot wiggled his eyebrows. “Bossy Q strikes again.  _ Daddy likey, _ ”

 

Quentin rolled his eyes. “Do you want your dick sucked or not, Waugh?”

 

“Okay, I’m going, I’m going,”

 

Somehow, Eliot carried Quentin from their cars, across the threshold, and to the bedroom, all while Quentin peppered his face with kisses. They crashed onto the bed, Eliot pressing Quentin deeper into the mattress and Quentin tugging at their clothes.

 

And they made up for lost time.

 

Their actual One Year Anniversary was the next day. 

 

They spent all day just.... being together.

 

They woke up next to each other for the first time in weeks and relished in it, spending all morning wrapped up in each other’s arms and in the bed sheets.

 

Eliot cooked them lunch while Quentin ranted and raved about how terrible of a roommate Todd was and how there had been no cool parties since Eliot and Margo graduated.

 

They watched  _ Newsies _ curled up on the couch, Quentin with his head in Eliot’s lap.

 

They played cards on the floor, and Eliot got his ass thoroughly kicked.

 

Over dinner, Eliot got Quentin up to date on how Margo was doing and how he liked his classmates at the studio and how Fen just moved to the city, too.

 

And then, when the sun was fully sunken below the horizon and a cloud of darkness descended upon the world, Quentin and Eliot went out onto the lawn.

 

Because it was their anniversary and they were romantic fucks, they brought out a warm quilt from the closet and all of the candles in the house to set around them, creating a warm, glowing, safe haven in the darkened night. The AirBnB also didn’t have wine glasses for whatever god-forsaken reason, so Eliot poured their wine into clay mugs he found in the cabinets. They kicked off their shoes and settled into the blanket, letting the cool October night air wash over them.

 

“Happy anniversary, Q,” Eliot said, raising his mug. “To our first year at this thing,”

 

Quentin rolled his eyes, and shook his head. “You call that a toast?”

 

Eliot raised a playful eyebrow. “Oh, think you can do better?”

 

“I know I can,” Quentin bumped his shoulder into Eliot’s, and then pursed his lips. He raised his glass, and gave Eliot a warm smile.

 

“To my first year of loving you,” Quentin said, “And may there be many more,”

 

Eliot’s face softened and he made a quiet noise at the back of his throat. “Quentin-”

 

“Told you I could do a better toast,” Quentin sent him a shit eating grin, and Eliot laughed. 

 

They clinked their glasses together and drank, Quentin gently rubbing his foot under Eliot’s leg and Eliot gently rubbing his thumb over the top of Quentin’s hand.

 

And when they kissed in the candle light, with Eliot’s gentle hand coming up to the back of Quentin’s neck and holding him close, it was like they were the only two people in the universe.

 

It was the perfect anniversary.

 

And then November sucked. 

 

Quentin didn’t get to see Eliot in person  _ at all _ , the entire fucking month.

 

It was also not a good mental health month. Not for any specific reason, that’s just the way the cookie crumbled. Quentin was overworked and behind in his classes and as the winter months approached, he could sense the seasonal depression looming over his regular depression. 

 

He just.....

 

He felt very alone.

 

In the terrible way that college tended to make you feel. 

 

Not only was Quentin constantly isolated by the fact that he had to sit and do homework for hours a day, but Julia was busy with her first big costume design credit at the Chatwin Theatre, Alice was lowkey avoiding him after her Margo breakup, Todd was useless, Kady wasn’t really the “hanging out” type and Eliot, even though they were still doing their best, was four fucking hours away from him.

 

And he just....

 

He just felt kind of alone.

 

But he’d get through it, because he always had.

 

But he did facetime Margo at least once a week, so that was nice.

 

Quentin missed Margo almost as much as he missed Eliot.

 

“I swear to God, Q,” Margo rolled her eyes, her face taking up all of Quentin’s phone screen, “The people I work with just  _ assholes _ , and I hate them. If you can’t have an ounce of compassion for the people who work for you, don’t be a fucking stage manager!”

 

“Preach, Margo,” Quentin hummed.

 

“Like I’m not saying you have to be shitting rainbows every goddamned day, but if you can’t bring yourself to be kind to your actors or your crew members, don’t be in the position where they rely on you the most!”

 

“Agreed,”

 

“The stage manager literally sets the tone for the work environment, and if you’re a narcissistic asshole, it’s bad for everyone! And I’m fucking tired of being the only person on the payroll who seems to care about the actors!”

 

The corner of Quentin’s mouth tugged upwards. “You’re the best of us, Margo,”

 

“Damn right, I am.” Margo huffed, and nodded. “Thanks for letting me rant, Q,”

 

“Anytime,” Quentin grinned, “I miss our floor time,”

 

A small smile graced Margo’s face. “Me, too,” She shook her head. “Enough about me, how’re you doing? Did you ever finish that paper for Fogg you were griping about?”

 

“Yeah, three days late,” Quentin rolled his eyes, and bit his lip. “I don’t know, Margo. I’m just super overwhelmed with everything,”

 

Margo frowned. “Are you still seeing that therapist? Dr. Betsy?”

 

“Dr. Beth, yeah, I am,” Quentin sighed. “And she’s great. It’s just hard right now,”

 

“I’m sorry, Q,” Margo rested her chin on her hand. “I’m seeing you over winter break, though, right?”

 

“Yeah. I’m coming up as soon as I’m done with finals,”

 

“Good. I miss you,” Margo gave him a curt nod. “And I know El does, too. Oh, and Fen sends her love,”

 

“Oh, yeah, El told me that she just moved close to you guys. Have you guys been spending any time together?”

 

A look passed over Margo’s face and she glanced at her nails. “Uh huh,”

 

Quentin frowned. “Margo, what was that look?”

 

“Look? What look?”

 

“That  _ look _ -“

 

“There wasn’t a look,”

 

“I know you better than you think, Hanson,”

 

“Oh, fuck off, Coldwater,”

 

A realization washed over him and Quentin’s eyes nearly popped out of his socket. “Oh, my  _ God _ , are you and Fen-“

 

“Shut  _ up, _ ”

 

“You and Fen are  _ totally _ fucking, aren’t you?”

 

Margo Hanson didn’t blush, but she got pretty damn close. “No, we’re  _ not, _ ”

 

But Quentin could see right through her. “Does Eliot know?”

 

“There’s nothing to  _ know, _ Quentin,” Margo snarked.

 

“Wait, wasn’t she dating Marina?”

 

“She and Marina broke up not long after graduation,”

 

Oh, this was getting  _ juicy. _

 

Quentin grinned and wiggled in his seat. “How long has this been going on between you two?” 

 

“Nothing is going on!” Margo protested. 

 

Margo Hanson was truly a fantastic liar.

 

But Quentin was one of her best friends. 

 

“Margo, look me in the eyes and tell me that you’re not sleeping with Fen,”

 

Margo glared at him, and Quentin knew that he had won. 

 

“Fine!” Margo threw up her hands. “Fen and I have hooked up a few times!” She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “But keep your mouth shut about it, Coldwater,”

 

Quentin crossed his heart. “My lips are sealed, promise,”

 

“Good, I’ll kick your ass if you spill the beans,” Margo scowled, and then looked at her watch. “And on that note, I’ve got to go get ready for rehearsal,”

 

Quentin sighed, but there was a soft smile attached to it. “Alright, I’ll talk to you later, Margo. Love you,”

 

She rolled her eyes and reciprocated the smile. “Love you, too, Q,” She blew him a kiss. “See you in a few weeks,”

 

A few weeks blew by and then it was December.

 

Quentin, not having to work Christmas Carol this year, threw his duffle bag in the back seat and drove straight for New York City the second he was done with his last final.

 

And he spent the first week of his winter break just living with Eliot (and Margo) in the city.

 

And he rested. 

 

And he had sex with his boyfriend.

 

And he got tours of the place Margo was working and went to one of Eliot’s shows and went out for drinks with Eliot, Margo, and Fen.

 

And he felt a little less alone.

 

Eliot came home with Quentin for Christmas. 

 

Ted had called Eliot directly and invited him, back in November. And unlike the last time he had been invited to the Coldwater’s place for the holidays, Eliot actually felt ready for it.

 

So three days before Christmas, Quentin and Eliot pulled up to the Coldwater house in Brooklyn, and was immediately greeted by a warm hug from Ted and Quentin’s mom, Diane. 

 

Eliot got the full tour of Quentin’s childhood home, making sure he took lots of pictures of little Quentin, braces and all. It was a little weird to sleep next to his boyfriend in his childhood bedroom, but Quentin could see how much Eliot was enjoying this.

 

“This” specifically being receiving love from parental figures.

 

“I haven’t seen my parents since I was seventeen,” Eliot confessed to him on Christmas Eve.

 

They were sitting on the floor, curled up under a blanket, Quentin with his head on Eliot’s shoulder. Ted and Diane has gone to bed an hour ago, leaving the two of them to sit in front of a crackling fireplace.

 

“They kicked me out right after high school graduation,” Eliot continued, staring into the fire. “Well, only because I came out to them the day I graduated. I knew in advance that it wasn’t going to go over  _ well _ , but I didn’t think that they'd ...” 

 

Eliot sighed, and Quentin squeezed his hand. 

 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, El,” 

 

Eliot squeezed his hand back. “I just wish I could see my brothers again,”

 

“Maybe one day, you will,” Quentin suggested, and Eliot nodded.

 

“I hope so,”

 

Quentin turned his head and pressed a kiss to Eliot’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re spending Christmas here,”

 

“Me, too, Q. Me, too,”

 

Christmas Day was practically  _ magical _ . 

 

It snowed, and Diane had hot cocoa and freshly made snickerdoodles waiting for the boys when they came back in from playing in the show, red in the face and full of laughs. 

 

There was a gift exchange around the Christmas tree, and it was nothing too terribly exciting on Quentin’s end. He gave his parents very Standard Parent Presents, candles and new bathrobes and a spatula with a New York Knicks logo carved into it. And they smiled happily and gushed over Quentin’s thoughtfulness, even though he’d picked everything out at the last second.

 

From his parents, Quentin received a new pair of headphones and a new Brakebills sweater, and other various items that he’d put on his Amazon Wish List, which was nice.

 

But the real magical moment happened when Diane handed Eliot his present.

 

It was a new, stainless steel watch, and the moment Eliot opened up the box, he looked up at the Coldwaters with wide eyes.

 

“It’s tradition in the Coldwater family to get your kids a watch,” Ted explained. “Curly Q got one for his eighteenth birthday, and I know you’re a little past that, but….”

 

Eliot was  _ completely _ at a loss for words, and it was adorable.

 

“You’re one of our boys, now, Eliot,” Diane said, reaching over to squeeze Eliot’s hand. “And we want you to feel like you’re a part of this family,”

 

And Eliot gave them both massive hugs, wiping at the tears on his cheeks.

 

And every day after that, Eliot wore the watch with pride.

 

January was overwhelming.

 

Quentin was working full time in Brakebills South, trying to learn as much as he could with the time he had left in the props shop. It was also a full time job to look for a post graduation job.

 

He felt like he was spending every hour on Offstage Jobs or sending out his resume and portfolio to various theatres in New York City.

 

And he missed Eliot.

 

He missed him so much he could hardly stand it.

 

February blinked by so quickly it was almost like it hadn’t happened. He spent the entire month applying for apprenticeships with Julia.

 

March brought the much needed Spring Break.

 

Quentin, Eliot, Julia, Kady, Margo, and Fen (who Margo was NOT dating, they were just VERY good friends, and she’d bite the head off of anyone who suggested otherwise) planned a beach trip.

 

Well, Eliot, Margo, and Julia planned the trip. 

 

Quentin kind of just showed up and brought the snacks.

 

He’d never really been a beach person, but he had to admit, he was enjoying himself. 

 

He built sandcastles with Margo, and they declared themselves Kings of the Land.

 

He chucked a frisbee back and forth with Fen, Kady, and Julia, all of whom were way more athletic than he was. 

 

And then there was Eliot, handsome Eliot, who looked like the sound of ocean waves and sand under his heels had taken all the stress off his shoulders. He laid out on a towel for most of the day, soaking in the sun’s rays, only getting in the water when Quentin tugged him by the hand with a wide grin so that they could splash each other with the salty waves.

 

Quentin wished they could have spent forever at the beach.

 

But he had to go back to reality, back to his work and classes. 

 

And Eliot had to go back to New York City. 

 

And Quentin marked the days til graduation off on his calendar.

 

April was good bonding time between Quentin and Julia.

 

They were both in Interview Hell, trying to secure positions for the next season after they graduated. Julia was shooting to get a costuming internship and Quentin, a props job. They spent hours prepping for their interviews together, and Julia has made them a color coded poster board so they could keep track of what theatres they’d heard back from and which ones they’d interviewed with and which ones they’d been rejected from.

 

Quentin felt like all of his phone calls with Eliot and Margo were just him bitching about how sure he was that no one was going to hire him and he was going to be a total failure.

 

And they loved him through it. 

 

And he loved them for it.

 

And then, at the very end of April, Julia got a costuming internship at the Goodman Theatre in Chicago and Quentin secured a job working in the props shop at the Public Theatre in New York City.

 

He was  _ ecstatic. _

 

The Public Theatre was one of the biggest and most well respected regional theatres in the country. It was any theatre kid’s dream to work there.  _ Fuck,  _ it was where  _ Hamilton _ got its start before it transferred to Broadway.

 

And Quentin  _ made it. _

 

Out of thousands who applied,  _ he’s  _ the one who got the job.

 

And now that it was confirmed that Quentin was officially moving to New York, he and Eliot has started looking for their own place together.

 

The future looked bright.

 

Quentin graduated on a Saturday. 

 

Well, it was also Julia, Kady, and Alice’s graduation.

 

But his parents, Eliot, and Margo were mostly there for him.

 

Quentin and Julia did matching grad caps, with both of them saying “Do you have your exit buddy?” in bright blue letters and characters from Finding Nemo pasted all over their caps. It was a little silly, but Julia had been his best friend for almost nine years. And soon they’d be moving to different cities, and they didn’t know when they’d see each other in person again.

 

So they did their silly caps and took pictures together and Quentin did  _ not  _ cry about it.

 

Except he  _ totally  _ did, and Julia right along with him. 

 

The ceremony itself was just as boring as Eliot’s was last year, but he at least got to sit with the other theatre majors for it.

 

And he they called his name and he walked across the stage, he heard his own personal cheering squad roaring in the stands for him.

 

And he was grateful.

 

He met them outside the arena afterwards. His mom gave him a massive mama bear hug, crying about how her “little baby” was all grown up. And he let her cry on his shoulder, sending a grin to his dad, who was also trying not to cry.

 

Margo got to him next, scooping him up in a rare Margo Hug of Love, whispering how proud she was of him in his ear, for only him to hear.

 

Eliot was last, pressing a swift kiss to Quentin’s cheek before wrapping his arms around Quentin and squeezing him tight.

 

Diane got a million photos of everyone together, capturing the memories of that warm May day.

 

Julia and Quentin were hosting an After Graduation get together at the Cottage for their family and friends to come get drunk and eat devilled eggs. Most of their little group made a beeline to their cars afterwards, eager to escape the crowds and open the bottles of champagne they had waiting.

 

But Quentin and Eliot took their time.

 

Hand in hand, they strolled across campus towards Eliot’s car, Quentin still in his cap and gown.

 

As they walked through the campus that had become his home, Quentin soaked in every bench and tree and building into his memory, so that he’d never forget what it looked like.

 

And when they got to the Chatwin Theatre on campus, Quentin stopped in his tracks, tugging Eliot back to him and looking up at the towering brick building and the large and seemingly bottomless fountain in front of it with wide eyes.

 

And Quentin realized, in that moment, this was the exact spot he’d first seen the Chatwin Theatre, two years ago, the day he met Eliot.

 

The day his life changed forever.

 

“Whatcha thinking about, Q?” Eliot asked, looking down at him.

 

Quentin leaned into Eliot’s side. “Think we’ll ever come back here?”

 

“I hope so,” Eliot kissed the top of Quentin’s head. “Brakebills is special to us,”

 

“It’s where we met,” Quentin grinned. “In fact, we met right over there,” He pointed over, and Eliot laughed.

 

“I remember that. You were so adorably nervous,”

 

“And you were a smug motherfucker,” Quentin teased, and Eliot hummed, dropping Quentin’s hand to wrap his arm around Quentin’s shoulder. “I can’t believe it’s only been two years,”

 

“Feels like it’s been a lifetime,” Eliot nodded.

 

And then Quentin smiled, a soft and sure smile. “Nah, that’s what’s still ahead,” 

 

Eliot rolled his eyes and returned the smile. “Two years down, fifty to go, Coldwater” He teased, and Quentin laughed, leaning his head against Eliot’s shoulder.

 

And Quentin fell in love with Eliot all over again.

 

And he felt happy.

 

And excited.

 

And hopeful for the future.

 

Because the future didn’t just  _ look _ bright, it  _ was _ bright.

 

He had a whole lifetime of love and theatre ahead of him.

 

And Quentin couldn’t wait for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen im not saying that everything i do is to spite the writers but that's sure what happens.
> 
> Also PS I did the Crucible in college with those same directorial choices. 
> 
> Also October 14th is the anniversary of the day I Came Out!!


	26. Marriage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

_ Five Years Later _

 

“Quentin, have you seen my good clippers?”

 

Quentin put down his wooden spoon and pattered from the kitchen to where Eliot was shifting through the closet in their bathroom.

 

 “They should be in that bag Margo got you for Christmas,” He said, peering around his partner’s shoulder.

 

“Which one?”

 

“The one with the gold embroidery,” Quentin reached up on his tip toes to rest his chin on Eliot’s shoulder. Once he got eyes on the bag in question, he pointed at it. “That one,”

 

“Ah, fabulous,” Eliot grabbed it. “Thank you, love,”

 

Quentin grinned and pecked Eliot on the cheek. “Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes,”

 

“Have you burned the kitchen down, yet?” Eliot called to him as Quentin made his way back into the kitchen.

 

“Only a little,” Quentin called back, returning to the kitchen. “It’ll just add to the flavor,”

 

He heard Eliot’s laugh echo from the other room, and Quentin smiled to himself as he poked at the sizzling chicken. 

 

Quentin was by no means, as good of a cook as Eliot was, but he’d been trying to learn and get better at it, because he didn’t want Eliot to feel like he was the only one contributing to their household. Quentin could put on his adulting pants and learn to cook for his boyfriend. And this particular recipe was one that Julia had sent him a few weeks ago, and it was simple enough that he could easily follow along.

 

“Do you know where my cufflinks are?” Eliot’s voice called out.

 

Well, he  _ could _ follow along if his boyfriend wasn’t calling him away every five seconds.

 

“Which ones?” He called back.

 

Eliot poked his head out of the door way. “The ones you got me forever ago,”

 

“On Christmas Carol Opening?”

 

“Yeah, those ones,”

 

Quentin pursed his lips. “Did you check under the dresser? Sometimes Evita knocks them off,” At the sound of her name, their little gray fluff ball came barreling into the kitchen with a soft meow. “See?” Quentin bent down to pet their cat, “She even admits to it,”

 

“Fair. I’ll check there now,” Eliot grinned, and slipped back into their bedroom.

 

“Are you gonna miss us while we’re gone, Evita Akita?” Quentin asked, scooping the cat up with one arm. Evita, true to her musical namesake, responded back with a loud meow.

 

“Found it!” Eliot called from the other room. 

 

“Good,” Quentin answered, and with Evita still tucked under one arm, moved the skillet off the stove and to a towel on the counter. “Dinner’s ready!”

 

Quentin gently dropped Evita onto the floor as he began dishing up their meal, and Eliot came into the kitchen with two of their suitcases.

 

“How close are we to being done packing?” Quentin asked, pulling silverware out of the drawer.

 

“Just about done, I think,” Eliot said, accepting his plate from Quentin, “Margo is coming over tomorrow before we leave so she can get the full run down on Evita care,”

 

Evita meowed at that.

 

“I can’t believe she was willing to house sit for us for so long,” Quentin commented, settling down at the table, “It’s like, almost two months,”

 

Eliot shrugged. “I’d rather have Margo house sit for us than a stranger,”

 

“Oh, completely agree,”

 

“Besides, I told her as long as she washes the sheets before we get back, Fen is welcome to come over and stay with her. In Fact, it’s expected,” Eliot wiggled his eyebrows, and took a bite of the chicken. His eyes lit up. “Baby, this is really good,”

 

Quentin rolled his eyes. “You’re just saying that,”

 

“No, if it was terrible, I’d tell you,” Eliot shook his head. “After dinner, I can start packing up our dresser,”

 

“Oh, that’s okay, I’ve got it,” Quentin said, a little too quickly. “Besides you’ve got to get ready for your show tonight,”

 

Eliot noticed, and sent him a teasing smile. “You hiding something, Coldwater?”

 

But Quentin was ready for him. “Oh yeah, my massive dildo,” He shot back, and Eliot laughed so hard he almost choked on his water. “Nah, you’ve just already packed up most of our stuff, so I can do the rest,”

 

“Okay, that’s fair,” Eliot shrugged. “I’ve got to leave in about...” He glanced at the clock on the stove. “Half an hour?”

 

“Cool, I’ll finish packing while you’re at the show tonight,” Quentin nodded. “And then closing tomorrow, and we leave the next day, right?”

 

“Right,” Eliot confirmed, wiping at his mouth with a napkin. “But I’m sure we’ll be able to drive back a few times. Can’t spend two months without seeing our Evita,”

 

“Akita,” Quentin said, and they grinned. 

 

Evita chimed in with her own meow.

 

The couple finished up dinner, and then washed dishes together. And Eliot gave Quentin a tender kiss and a smack to the ass before heading out the door to his show.

 

And Quentin exhaled.

 

Because Eliot had gotten too close to what he was  _ really _ hiding.

 

And when the door clicked shut behind Eliot, Quentin rushed to the dresser, and dug out from the back of his sock drawer a small bag.

 

And in that, a small box.

 

And in that, an engagement ring.

 

Quentin and Eliot had been talking about marriage for a couple years now. 

 

They talked about what it meant to them, to commit to each other for their entire lives. They talked about what it meant to get married as two queer men, and what they’d have to face. They talked about what the difference was between them getting Officially Married and to just live out the rest of their days in cohabitation. 

 

And they both agreed that they wanted to be  _ married _ .

 

All talks of marriage and thoughts of proposals had been put on hold last year when Quentin’s dad had been diagnosed with cancer. And then when Ted made a miraculous recovery and Quentin felt like his life was back in order, he went out and bought a ring.

 

Now he just had to give it to Eliot. 

 

He knew that he should have like... a  _ plan _ for how he wanted to do. That’s what Julia had suggested when he had talked to her about it. But he didn’t know how he wanted to go about doing it until Eliot had burst into their apartment a few weeks ago with the exciting news.

 

Henry Fogg himself called Eliot up and asked him if he wanted to audition for the Chatwin Theatre’s production of  _ Hamlet _ . Eliot had agreed to audition, but said that he would only take the gig if Quentin could come along with him.

 

And so Eliot was cast in the titular role of Hamlet.

 

And Quentin was invited to come back and work in Brakebills South, and teach a half semester long class about props at the start of the fall semester. Which he was  _ ridiculously _ excited about. He’d been working in professional props shops for the last five years, and he loved the idea of taking the knowledge he’d gained and giving it back to the students at Brakebills. 

 

They were both delighted at the idea of returning to the old homestead, even if it meant leaving their cat behind while they stayed in the housing that the Chatwin Theatre provided to visiting artists. The thought of returning to their alma mater, where they studied and met and fell in love as working professionals was a dream come true.

 

And the perfect opportunity to propose.

 

He still didn’t have like.....a  _ plan  _ plan, but he had an idea of how he wanted to do it. 

 

The opportunity arose once they’d kissed their Evita Akita goodbye, driven back to Brakebills and settled into the apartment that company management provided themselves.

 

“Hey, want to go see campus?” Eliot asked with a grin, “See what’s changed and see if we can break into the theatre?”

 

“Oh, hell yeah,” Quentin said. “Let me grab my jacket, and we can go,”

 

And he slipped the ring box into his pocket. 

 

Walking around campus was surreal. Not very much had changed, which was actually really nice. But Quentin hadn’t been back in five years, since he graduated, so it was a little odd to be strolling across campus with memories of his time there flitting through his mind.

 

And then they were in front of the Chatwin Theatre, and Quentin’s heart swelled in his chest.

 

It was like coming home again.

 

A home he hadn’t seen in five years.

 

Eliot lead him by the hand around the fountain so they could get a closer look at the new sign on the front of the building and the marquees for the shows for the season.

 

And Quentin’s heart was pounding in his chest. 

 

They were  _ right _ at the spot they’d met at.

 

Now would be  _ perfect _ -

 

“Hey, look, the door is propped open,” Eliot pointed, and tugged at Quentin’s hand.

 

Quentin blinked, but he let himself be pulled.

 

They’d come back to the spot at some point in time.

 

Or maybe he’d get another chance once they got inside.

 

He hoped Eliot didn’t notice how sweaty his palms were.

 

The lobby was exactly how he remembered it, which was a nice comfort. Banners for the new season’s shows were up, but the box office was closed and the lobby was empty.

 

“We should see if we can get onstage,” Eliot said, tugging them along.

 

“El, should we be here? The place is deserted,” Quentin said, looking around.

 

Eliot shrugged and grinned. “Come on, Coldwater, where’s your sense of adventure?”

 

And because it was Eliot and Quentin loved him with his whole heart, he grinned back and followed Eliot into the maze of the Chatwin Theatre until they pushed through the door to the backstage, the far upstage left entrance. The lights were off, naturally, but Quentin could vaguely see a warm glow coming from onstage.

 

Was it the ghost light?

 

But Eliot kept tugging him along, past the stairs to the trap room and the fly rail and through the curtains and onto the stage and-

 

Quentin was  _ breathless. _

 

The stage was covered in hundreds of glowing candles, creating a warm safe haven in the darkness of the theatre.

 

And Eliot tugged them right into the center of it.

 

“Eliot, what-” Quentin stammered out, dropping his partners hand to turn around and take in the sight of all the candles. “What’s going on?” 

 

And when he turned back around, tears sprung to his eyes.

 

Eliot was down on one knee.

 

“ _ Eliot _ ,” Quentin choked out, his hand immediately going up to his mouth.

 

“Surprise,” Eliot said, softly, with warm eyes. 

 

And,  _ God, _ Quentin loved him.

 

“Quentin, I love you,” Eliot said, pulling a small box out of his pocket. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Eliot opened the box and revealed a simple silver band. “Will you marry me, Q?”

 

Quentin laughed, a joyous laugh that bubbled out of him with a wide smile on his face as he wiped at the tears that had fallen with the heel of his hand. Eliot made a confused face, which was adorable, and Quentin’s smile widened, which he didn’t know was possible. 

 

“I just, um,” He said, reaching into his own pocket and pulling out the box he had stored there, opening it up for Eliot to see the ring he’d picked out. “I was going to propose to  _ you,  _ El. So, of  _ course _ I’ll marry you,”

 

And then Eliot was laughing, too. 

 

And Eliot surged up to capture Quentin’s lips with his own, his hand finding it’s natural place on the back of Quetin’s neck and pulling him closer.

 

It was so romantic that Quentin thought he was going to cry.

 

And then he heard cheering.

 

With a confused look, Quentin pulled away from Eliot and looked out at the sound of the cheering in the house. The house lights had come on and there, in the rows and rows of red chairs, was Henry Fogg, Julia, and his parents, who had a camera out.

 

“El, what-”

 

“Surprise, again,” Eliot whispered in his ear, and Quentin laughed, waving to his family. 

 

And then he turned back to Eliot, and kissed him again.

 

Kissed him like they were the only two people in the world.

 

Kissed him like they were the stuff of stars.

 

Kissed him like they were going to spend the rest of their lives together.

 

Wedding planning was actually not that bad.

 

Before Eliot had even had time to think the thought, Quentin insisted that they hired a wedding planner. Quentin knew about his boyfriend’s--

 

\--his  _ fiance’s  _ tendency to over think and over plan and stress out about every possible detail. And that wasn’t how Quentin wanted the months leading up to their wedding to go.

 

So they hired a delightful man named Tick to be their wedding planner.

 

Their wedding colors were naturally cream, peach, and plum purple. 

 

Their flowers were lilies and roses and other multitudes of things that Quentin couldn’t name. 

 

They hired a DJ and gave her specific instructions that she was only to play showtunes and music by Queer Artists. 

 

“None of that hetero nonsense on my wedding day,” Eliot had said.

 

They settled on a rooftop wedding venue in the city, some place with a lovely garden and fountains for them to take pictures at.

 

And they asked Henry to be the officiant.

 

Neither Eliot or Quentin were religious people, so instead of hiring a stranger, they figured who better to marry them than the man who was like a father figure to Eliot?

 

And Henry agreed wholeheartedly. 

 

Margo was, of course, Eliot’s Best Man, and she insisted on that title.

 

Julia was just as happy to be Quentin’s Maid of Honor.

 

And that was the entire wedding party. They didn’t want a large wedding party, or even a large wedding in general. Just something intimate and personal for all of the important people in their lives to show up and support them.

 

Which is why Eliot’s family did  _ not _ get an invitation.

 

They’d talked about it, maybe the possibility of inviting his brothers, but in the end Eliot decided that on their special day, he didn’t want to worry about or deal with his terrible family, even if it was just one brother or none of them that showed up.

 

The Coldwaters would be there, and that was all that mattered. 

 

And speaking of Coldwaters, Quentin and Eliot has decided to hyphenate. 

 

Eliot still hasn’t gotten his equity card, but he was getting close to it, career wise. So now was the perfect time for a permanent name change. And as with all things, they talked about whether or not they actually wanted to change names or if Eliot wanted to drop the Waugh last name for good. 

 

But there was something inherently special (and inherently queer) about taking each other’s names and hyphenating it, taking a part of each other with them at all times.

 

And then June 1st was the day of the wedding. 

 

The day was perfect.

 

Tick had done an excellent job, and Quentin wasn’t stressed at all.

 

He was  _ nervous _ , obviously, but he wasn’t stressed.

 

In the minutes before Quentin was set to walk down the aisle, Julia stood with him in his dressing room, straightened his bow tie.

 

“How are you doing, Q?” She asked him, probably for the millionth time that day.

 

“I’m good,” He answered, drawing in a deep breath.

 

“You’re  _ great, _ ” She corrected, patting his chest. “You certainly look great in this suit,”

 

“Thanks, Jules,” Quentin smiled. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,”

 

With a soft grin, Julia reached up and brushed Quentin’s hair back. “I am the angel protecting your future, Coldwater,”

 

“Not _ just _ a Coldwater for long, though,” Quentin’s smile doubled in size, and Julia laughed.

 

“I’m so happy for you, Q,” She squeezed his shoulders, “You ready for this?”

 

Quentin exhaled. “Jules, I think I was ready for this day the moment I met him,”

 

And they giggled together.

 

And the rooftop was  _ gorgeous _ and  _ covered _ in flowers.

 

And Quentin  _ definitely  _ teared up a little bit when he and Eliot met at the altar, and they took each other’s hands. 

 

“We are here today to celebrate the marriage of Quentin Coldwater and Eliot Waugh,” Henry began, looking back and forth between them with a soft smile. “I’ve known Quentin and Eliot for some time. They were both my students, and I’ve kept in touch with them over the years. I’ve seen them grow as individuals, as working professionals, and as a couple. And I can attest to their good hearts, generous souls, and the fact that these two men were  _ made  _ for each other,”

 

Quentin had to blink rapidly to stop the next onslaught of tears.

 

“They balance each other out, and  _ help _ each other out. Their relationship is one that is a give and take of strength and gentleness, and I have never seen two people more in love,” Henry went on, “One  _ could _ say that they are two halves of one whole, but it’s more than that. These men are whole in their own right, whole in that they are their own people, and yet they still complete each other. They still learn from each other, and grow  _ with _ each other. And we can all learn about love from them,”

 

Eliot squeezed Quentin’s hands, and he could see the tears forming in his partner’s eyes.

 

“But today is not just about them, as individuals. It’s about their union, their decision to embark into this life together. And so, we must ask ourselves, what  _ is _ marriage?” Henry said, gesticulating with his hands. “Marriage is more than a signed legal document or a single, special day. Marriage is a  _ journey _ , a never ending quest to keep choosing each other, every day, through all the ups and the downs. Through all the best moments of our lives and all of our darkest nights, and to have that hand to hold through all of it,” Henry nodded. “Marriage is a quest to discover the beauty of all life, and to find it in your partner’s eye,”

 

Henry turned to Quentin. “Now, do you, Quentin Coldwater, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

 

“I do,” Quentin answered.

 

Henry turned to Eliot. “And do you, Eliot Waugh, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

 

“I do,” Eliot answered.

 

“And now, I believe you have your own vows?” Henry asked, and they nodded.

 

Eliot went first.

 

“Q, from the moment you stumbled into my life, I knew you were going to be a huge part of it. I think I fell a bit in love with you on that first day,” Eliot said, and the crowd laughed, but Quentin kept his eyes on Eliot.

 

Always, on Eliot.

 

_ Always. _

 

“You have been such a light in my life, my partner in crime, my number one supporter, and my best friend. You are my rock and my soft place to land. You have taught me how to love deeper and to live fuller,” Eliot smiled. “I am not the same person I was when we first met, and it’s because of you, Q. And if I’m braver, it’s because I learned it from you,” Eliot inhaled, and Quentin squeezed his hands. “And I can’t wait to keep being brave with you for the rest of my life,”

 

Eliot nodded at him, and Quentin knew it was his turn.

 

“So, destiny is bullshit,” Quentin blurted out, and the corners of Eliot’s mouth tugged upwards. “But, you are my best friend. And when I’m with you, the world makes sense.”

 

The crowd cooed, but he kept his gaze strong on Eliot. 

 

“You’re there to raise me up when I’m in a dark place and you’re there to celebrate my victories, no matter how small. Not a day goes by that I’m not grateful for your presence in my life and all that you’ve given me. And I think,” Quentin took a deep breath. “As much as you can believe in soulmates, you’re mine,”

 

Eliot was  _ definitely _ trying not to cry. 

 

“You are my lifetime love, El,” Quentin said. “And I love you with all my heart,”

 

“The rings?” Henry asked, and both Margo and Julia stepped forward to give their respective groom their ring. Henry turned to Quentin. “Now, repeat after me, Quentin,”

 

“With this ring, I give you a symbol of my love,”

 

“With this ring, I give you a symbol of my love,”

 

“And I give you a reminder that you are my always,”

 

“And I give you a reminder that you are my always,”

 

“And the promise of all our tomorrows, together.”

 

“And the promise of all our tomorrows, together.”

 

With a trembling hand, Quentin slid the ring onto Eliot’s hand.

 

Henry turned to Eliot. “Now, repeat after me, Eliot,”

 

“With this ring, I give you a symbol of my love,”

 

“With this ring, I give you a symbol of my love,”

 

“And I give you a reminder that you are my always,”

 

“And I give you a reminder that you are my always,”

 

“And the promise of all our tomorrows, together.”

 

“And the promise of all our tomorrows, together.”

 

Eliot slid the ring on Quentin’s finger, and it was like a missing piece of him clicked into place.

 

Henry clapped his hands together. “Now, by the power vested in me, I hereby declare you lawfully wedded husbands. You may now kiss the groom,”

 

Quentin surged forward, on his tiptoes, and kissed Eliot, sure and true. His hand cupped Eliot’s cheek as Eliot’s hands found their place on Quentin’s hips to pull him closer.  And when they pulled away with delightful grins on their faces, Quentin couldn’t help but go for one more deep kiss, laughing againsts Eliot’s lips.

 

Because they were  _ married. _

 

They were  _ husbands _ .

 

Forever and ever. 

 

Quentin and Eliot pulled apart, 

 

hand in hand,  

 

turned to greet their friends and family, 

 

for the first time, 

 

as the Coldwater-Waughs.   
  



	27. Family

_ Three Years After That _

 

Quentin was pacing.

 

Back and forth.

 

Twisting his hands.

 

Back and forth.

 

Drawing in shaky breaths.

 

Back and forth.

 

Back and forth.

 

Back and-

 

“Q, can you please come sit down?” Eliot said, rubbing his temple. “You’re making me nervous,”

 

“Sorry,” Quentin mumbled, claiming the seat next to Eliot. “Just anxious,”

 

“Me, too, baby,” Eliot said, his hand slipping into Quentin’s and entwining their fingers together.

 

And they sat in silence.

 

And then Quentin started bouncing his leg.

 

“Quentin,” Eliot said, gently.

 

“Sorry,” He stopped.

 

“It’s okay, love,” Eliot responded.

 

And they sat in silence.

 

And they waited.

 

Hell, they’d  _ been _ waiting for the last year and a half. 

 

Waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting.

 

And then, after dinner, they’d finally gotten the phone call they’d been waiting for.

 

And they drove like mad men through the city and practically flung themselves up the elevator and into the waiting room.

 

Where they were waiting.

 

And waiting.

 

And waiting.

 

And waiting.

 

And-

 

“Mr. and Mr. Coldwater-Waugh?” A woman in colorful scrubs pushed open a door off to the side. 

 

Quentin and Eliot’s heads snapped up to her. 

 

Quentin held his breath and Eliot’s hand.

 

“They’re ready for you,” was all the nurse said, and the pair leapt to their feet. 

 

The nurse led them through the doors and through twists and turns of the hospital hallway and through another door and into a sterilized room.

 

And there, in another nurse’s arms, was a baby.

 

“He’s six pounds, eight ounces,” The nurse holding the baby said. “He was born at 3am this morning, and the doctor’s given him a clean bill of health,” She looked up at Quentin and Eliot. “Do you want to hold him?” The nurse said, holding the newborn out slightly. 

 

Eagerly and without hesitation, Quentin stepped forward and held out his arms. Behind him, Eliot placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, stepping in closer with him.

 

The nurse tenderly placed the bundled newborn in Quentin’s arms and his heart rose up into his throat.

 

The baby was sleeping, and quite possibly the most amazing and precious thing Quentin had ever seen in his entire life.

 

It was like he was holding the whole world in his arms.

 

“El,” Quentin breathed, looking down and his heart swelling unlike anything he’d ever felt before. “He’s  _ perfect,” _

 

Eliot wrapped his arm around Quentin’s shoulder and stepped in even closer, peering over Quentin’s shoulder down at the little boy.

 

_ Their _ little boy.

 

“Look at him, Q,” Eliot said, leaning his head against Quentin’s. “He’s  _ ours,” _

 

Tears pricked at Quentin’s eyes, and he pressed back into his husband. 

 

“Is the birth mother….?” Quentin asked, not tearing his eyes away from his…

 

His  _ son. _

 

_ Their son. _

 

“She’s doing just fine,” the nurse responded. “She got time with him this morning, and has already said her goodbyes. As you know, with the closed adoption protocol, her identity is to remain anonymous,”

 

“But she’s okay?”  Eliot asked.

 

“Yes,” the nurse nodded. “It was a very smooth birthing process,”

 

“I’m glad,” Eliot said, resting his chin on Quentin’s shoulder. “I wish we could have met her,”

 

“Every case is unique,” the nurse said, “But this little guy will be ready to go in a little bit. There’s just some final adoption paperwork to go through, and then you’re free to go home with him. Have you thought of a name yet?”

 

Quentin nodded, and exchanged a glance with Eliot, whose eyes were soft and loving.

 

“Theodore Rupert Coldwater-Waugh,” Quentin  answered, looking back down at the sleeping angel. 

 

“That’s a wonderful name,” The nurse smiled. “I’ll give you two a moment alone with him,” 

 

And then Quentin and Eliot were alone in the room with their son.

 

Their  _ son. _

 

Their beautiful baby boy.

 

“You wanna hold him, El?” Quentin asked.

 

“God, yes,” Eliot said, stepping out from behind Quentin and pulling a chair up. 

 

With ease, Quentin passed the baby to Eliot’s arms.

 

And the sight of Eliot with a baby,  _ their _ baby in his arms…..

 

Quentin didn’t know it was possible to feel that much love in his chest.

 

“Are you ready to come home with us, little guy?” Eliot cooed.

 

“I can’t get over how perfect he is,” Quentin said, slipping around to the back of Eliot’s chair and leaning down on his shoulders. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Eliot’s head. “Our little Teddy,”

 

A soft laugh bubbled out of Eliot, and he nodded. “Our little Teddy,”

 

And so the Coldwater-Waugh family grew.

 

Teddy was the  _ perfect _ baby.

 

Not only was he the cutest little shit Quentin had ever seen in his whole life, but he wasn’t a particularly fussy baby. He was quiet and gentle and loved spending time with his Daddy and his Papa and his Evita Akita.

 

And they made sure to soak up every single moment with him.

 

The first time Teddy smiled, Quentin cried.

 

The first time Teddy laughed, Eliot FaceTimed Ted And Diane so they could hear it, too.

 

The first time Teddy crawled to Quentin across the carpet of their apartment, Eliot got it on video.

 

And soon their little angel was babbling and sitting up on his own and constantly grabbing Quentin’s long hair and Eliot’s glasses.

 

And one day when Quentin was feeding him, his babbling became a coherent “Dada,” and Quentin was so excited he nearly dropped the spoon.

 

And, for the record, Teddy’s favorite food mush was peach flavored, which Quentin gave Eliot  _ endless  _ shit about.

 

Teddy’s first year flew by in the blink of an eye and suddenly Quentin and Eliot were decorating their apartment for his birthday party. Margo showed up early to help decorate, and for a moment, Quentin felt like they were decorating for a Cottage Party again.

 

Except the theme was zoo animals and the punch was apple juice and the snack was a cartoon lion cake and the guest of honor was a baby.

 

But it was good to get everyone together again, as they invited all of their friends and family. Julia and Kady were even flying in from Chicago, which was wonderful. They hadn’t seen each other since Teddy had been born, and Quentin missed his best friend.

 

It was hard living in different cities.

 

And then, when Teddy turned two, they bought a house. 

 

It was a cute little house not too far from the city and in the middle of the woods on Mosaic Lane, with a huge yard for Teddy to run around in, whenever he could actually do that without falling on his face and crying his eyes out.

 

It was also in a good school zone, and easy for Quentin and Eliot to commute into the city for work.

 

Teddy spent most of his Toddler Years going with Quentin to work.

 

He’d been promoted to the Head Props Master of the Roundabout Theatre Company, which was where Margo still worked. It was nice to make a theatre his home, and everyone who worked there  _ adored _ the sweet Teddy. 

 

Teddy was content to sit in Quentin’s office and play with his toys, or watch his Daddy paint “the pretty things” or to hang out with Auntie Margo around the building. 

 

Teddy was pretty much just as much of a constant at the theatre as Quentin was, and he  _ loved  _ getting to share that time with his son. It was special to raise him in a theatre.

 

And they documented the  _ hell _ out of Teddy’s toddler years. 

 

They took pictures of Teddy playing with Evita.

 

Pictures of Eliot throwing Teddy up in the air in their front yard.

 

Pictures of Teddy swinging between his dad’s hands.

 

Pictures of Quentin and Teddy napping together. 

 

Pictures of Teddy in Halloween Costumes.

 

Pictures of Eliot and Teddy cooking together. 

 

Pictures of Teddy as the ring bearer in Kady and Julia’s wedding.

 

Pictures of Teddy and the teddy bear Eliot bought Quentin years ago.

 

Pictures of Teddy riding on his Granddaddy’s shoulders.

 

Pictures of the three of them together, their perfect little family.

 

Quentin and Eliot still found time just for each other, even though most of their time was spent being Teddy’s Parents. They’d have Margo and Fen baby sit while they went on a date night, or send Teddy to his Grandaddy and Grammie’s place for a week to give them a breath of fresh air.

 

And for them to have sex whenever they wanted, instead of having to wait for after Teddy’s bedtime.

 

There was one day that Quentin and Eliot  _ definitely  _ thought they were alone, and were starting to get..... slightly steamier than they would have if they’d known that Teddy was lurking around the corner. And Eliot  _ might  _ have let slip out one of his classic “Daddy likey” lines while backing Quentin up against the kitchen counter.

 

And then their four year old son popped out of  _ nowhere _ and loudly said “No, you’re  _ Papa _ .  _ He’s  _ Daddy,” while pointing back and forth between them.

 

Quentin had to bury his face in Eliot’s chest to keep from bursting out laughing. 

 

Though they would  _never_ fully explain the context of that moment to Teddy, they did tell all their friends, and a child friendly version of it would be used to tease Teddy for years to come.

 

And then Teddy started school.

 

Sending Teddy off to kindergarten was probably one of the hardest things Quentin had ever done in his whole life. 

 

So much so that Eliot had to drive them home because Quentin was crying so much.

 

And the theatre felt a little bit empty.

 

But Teddy came home every day  _ ecstatic  _ about the things he’d learned at school and all the friends he’d made. He’d babble about everything while sitting at the kitchen counter and watching Eliot cook dinner for them. And Quentin felt a little less sad about not being able to take his buddy with him into work, seeing how happy his boy was about school.

 

And then the moment Quentin had been dreading finally came about.

 

“Papa, how come I don’t have a mommy like the other kids?” Teddy asked one day, as Eliot was chopping the vegetables for chicken noodle soup.

 

But they had prepared for this moment extensively, and without missing a beat, Eliot responded back with: “Every family is different, Teddy. You have two daddies, some people have two mommies, some people have a mommy and a daddy. Some people only have one or the other,”

 

Quentin sent his husband an affirmative nod.

 

Teddy looked deep in thought. “So, I have two daddies,”

 

Quentin ruffled his son’s hair. “You sure do, kiddo,”

 

“And two mommies would be like.....” Teddy’s bottom lip stuck out, and it was adorable. “Like Auntie Fen and Auntie Margo?” 

 

Eliot’s smile was radiant. “Yes, just like that, Teddy,”

 

“And a mommy and a daddy would be like.....” Teddy crossed his arms. “Like Mister Penny and Miss Alice?”

 

Quentin was surprised that their old college friends, who’d gotten together a few years ago, and who Teddy’s met maybe  _ twice _ , was somehow the only Opposite Gender couple that he could think of, but Quentin confirmed that yes, it would be like that.

 

“Does that mean someone could have two granddaddies or two grammies?”

 

_ God _ , he loved his kid.

 

“Absolutely,” Eliot nodded.

 

Teddy’s eyes widened so much they practically bulged out of his head. “Does that mean someone could have two kitty cats?” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air.

 

Eliot burst out laughing, and reached out to swipe his thumb across Teddy’s cheek.

 

“Kind of like that, Teddy Bear. Maybe not the same thing, but like that,” Eliot said, sending a bemused look up at Quentin.

 

“Does that mean we could have two kitties, Papa?” Teddy asked, in the sweetest voice possible.

 

Eliot pointed his knife at Quentin. “He got that Puppy Dog Look from you, Q,”

 

“Papa, I want another  _ kitty _ , not a puppy,” Teddy clarified.

 

So, they got another cat.

 

Teddy named her Nala, because the Lion King was his favorite movie. 

 

And so the Coldwater-Waugh family grew.

 

Teddy loved school, and his teachers loved him. Every single mandatory Parent-Teacher conference they had to go to was just Teddy’s teacher absolutely  _ gushing _ about how he was the most well behaved and wonderful kid in class. Teddy was like a sponge, he loved learning about anything he could get his hands on.

 

There was a  _ really _ big dinosaur phase in first grade in which everything Teddy kept in his room had to be dinosaur themed.

 

Then in second grade, he got really into princesses, which Quentin and Eliot supported whole heartedly.

 

But that was phase initiated by Margo and Fen’s wedding, actually.

 

The two women got married in a grand mansion in Queens, and the theme of the wedding was Royalty. Eliot was, of course, Margo’s best man, and Quentin one of her groomsmen, while Teddy sat next to Julia and Kady in the chairs. Margo and Fen’s wedding gowns were both so extravagant and beautiful that they _looked_ like Queens, and both Quentin and Eliot cried.

 

And then Teddy kept insisting that princesses and queens were “way cooler than those dumb reptiles.”

 

Which, Margo was thrilled about.

 

Third grade was the year of female politicians in pant suits. 

 

That one was a little weird, and probably also Margo’s fault.

 

Then fourth grade brought the dreaded recorder.

 

But Teddy  _ loved  _ it.

 

He loved playing that stupid recorder around the house like he was a bard in a freaking Dungeons and Dragon’s campaign. 

 

And it drove him  _ crazy _ .

 

But he didn’t say that to Teddy.

 

As far as Teddy knew, his recorder playing was the best thing in the whole world.

 

Which is why it was no surprise when Teddy wanted to join middle school band. 

 

Eliot was over the  _ moon _ about their son wanting to explore music, and even broke out his old piano to teach Teddy how to play. Quentin didn’t know very much about music and never had, but he loved watching his boys sit at the piano together.

 

The piano was Teddy’s first instrument, and he enjoyed it, but he wanted to learn more.

 

He picked up guitar in sixth grade, and it was adorable to watch his clumsy hands fumble over the strings. But he was actually pretty good at it, especially with the lessons he was taking, and Quentin would take piano and guitar over the shrill recorder.

 

And then in seventh grade, Teddy wanted to learn about percussion.

 

And suddenly every single surface in their house was a practice surface.

 

Quentin loved his kid, he really did, with his whole heart and soul.

 

But if he woke up one more Saturday to Teddy drumming on everything in the house while singing at the top of his lungs, he was gonna riot.

 

Eliot was enamored with it.

 

The cats were on Quentin’s side.

 

But it was all worth it when Teddy signed up for marching band in high school.

 

Sure, it would have been cool if Teddy had followed in his fathers’ footsteps of going into theatre. But marching band was its own kind of performance, and when Teddy made snare line as a freshman, he was so excited that he  _ cried _ . Eliot and Quentin also enjoyed the idea of putting their kid into an arts program that would teach him about teamwork and discipline and appreciation for the arts on a personal level.

 

Not that Teddy really needed the discipline aspect, as he was literally the Most Perfect Kid in the Whole World, which Quentin mentioned often to anyone who would listen, but still.

 

The summer before Teddy’s freshman year of high school, he went to band camp. Teddy loved being in the summer heat and playing music and learning the performance and making friends and getting to know the high school’s layout before school started. 

 

And then fall brought football games and halftime performances and competitions.

 

Competitions were probably the coolest thing Quentin had ever seen. He had  _ no idea _ that this whole world of competitive marching band shows existed. Contests were always on Saturdays, and always an all day event that featured a morning performance and evening performance, with an awards ceremony at the very end. They were long, hot and sweaty days with high school band geeks and their parents.

 

And Quentin and Eliot went to  _ every single one. _

 

Of course, there were a few here and there that Eliot had to miss the evening portion, because he had evening shows he had to go do his own performance for. But Teddy understood and didn’t hold it against him. But other than those occasional times where Eliot had to leave early, Quentin and Eliot were there to support their boy and all of his friends. 

 

They had been a little worried about Teddy facing bullying about the fact that he had two dads, especially going into high school. And there had been a couple of times in the past that he’d come home crying because some asshole of a middle schooler made fun of him. But the band kids  _ loved _ Quentin and Eliot.

 

They were staple Band Parents. They were at every performance and engaged with not only their son, but all the other kids, too. They made an effort to ask Benedict the horn player how his cartography projects were going, or help Emily Greenstreet the flute player with her boy problems. Quentin was also an incredible resource for the band to help build their field props, as he did it for a living. Eliot was also always willing to be an extra pair of hands when the color guard needed help finishing up hair and make up.

 

And Teddy  _ loved _ having his dads there. 

 

He even said so one day.

 

One night, Teddy’s sophomore year of high school, Quentin and Eliot were down on the couch, watching a movie or something. Quentin wasn’t really paying attention to it, to be honest. He’d had a long day at work, as he had to mend like a million props and his coworkers had been in a bad mood all day. So, instead of paying attention to whatever Eliot had chosen, he was curled up underneath his husband’s arm, slowly drifting off as Eliot’s hand lazily traced across his back. 

 

Even after all the years, Eliot was still his soft place to land. 

 

“Dad? Pop?” Teddy’s voice called softly as he stepped into the room.

 

Quentin raised his head off of Eliot’s chest. “What’s up, Teddy?”

 

“I just, uh,” Teddy said, his eyes flitting up and down and around the room.

 

He’d gotten that from Eliot.

 

“Everything okay, Teddy Bear?” Eliot said, turning off the TV.

 

“Yeah, it’s just that, um,” Teddy twisted his hands. 

 

He’d gotten that from Quentin.

 

“I wanted to say thank you,” Teddy finally got out.

 

Quentin quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

 

Teddy bit his lip. “Yeah, I was just talking to my friend Fray-”

 

“That sweet little blonde girl?” Eliot asked.

 

Teddy nodded. “Yeah. And she was really upset because her dad hasn’t come to any of our shows and her mom isn’t like, in the picture and she was crying a lot and uh,” Teddy shrugged, and looked at his shoes. “And you guys are  _ always _ there,”

 

Quentin and Eliot exchanged a soft look. 

 

“Of course, we are, Teddy,” Quentin said, patting Eliot’s knee. “We love you more than anything,”

 

Teddy nodded. “I just wanted you to know that I appreciated it,”

 

“Thank you for that, Teddy Bear,” Eliot said, reaching out and squeezing his son’s hand.

 

“Do you think that....” Teddy shuffled his feet again. “Do you think that Fray could come over for dinner or something, one day? She doesn’t ever really see her parents, and I think she’d like some family time. And Pop always makes such good food,”

 

Quentin’s heart swelled. 

 

_ God _ , _ he loved his son. _

 

“I think that’s a great idea,” Quentin nodded. “Whenever she’d like, our door is open,”

 

Teddy beamed. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll let her know,”

 

“And if she has any dinner requests, just let me know,” Eliot added.

 

“You rock, Pop,” Teddy grinned. “I’m gonna get ready for bed, but I love you guys,”

 

“Love you too, Teddy Bear,” 

 

“Goodnight, kiddo. Love you,”

 

Teddy slipped out of the room and they heard him patter up the stairs into his room. 

 

Quentin settled back down into Eliot, resting his head husband’s chest and draping his arm across his torso. And Eliot wrapped his arm around Quentin, pulling him closer, and kissed the top of his head.

 

They still fit together, just like they did when they were younger. 

 

“We did good, Q,” Eliot said, “He’s a good kid,”

 

Quentin nodded. “I think we did pretty okay at this Parenting Thing,”

 

“More than okay,” Eliot hummed. “I just can’t believe he’s grown up so fast,”

 

“I know, right?” Quentin sighed. “Soon we’re gonna have to start looking at colleges,”

 

“Oh, fuck,” Eliot’s head fell onto the back of the couch. “Q, I don’t wanna think about that right now. He’s still just a  _ baby _ ,”

 

“But...” Quentin pouted, and with the best Puppy Dog Eyes he could muster, he looked up at Eliot. “I thought  _ I _ was your baby,”

 

Eliot laughed, and swooped in to kiss him tenderly. “You will  _ always _ be my baby, Coldwater,”

 

Quentin grinned, and kissed him again. “Damn right,” He tucked his head back down. “And don’t you forget it,”

 

Eliot’s chest rumbled with laughter. “Peaches and plums, forever, baby,”

 

“Peaches and plums,” Quentin recited back.

 

And he fell asleep under Eliot’s tender touch.

 

Junior year was the year of College Scouting.

 

Teddy wanted to keep studying music, and go into a career as a percussionist. He wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to play in like, a rock band or an orchestra or whatever. He  _ had _ mentioned wanting to explore playing in orchestra pits for musicals, which Eliot was secretly rooting for, but they told him that they’d support him wherever his journey took him. 

 

So they looked at music schools and programs across the country, trying to figure out where would be the best fit for their Little Drummer Boy.

 

To which, Teddy would always say “Daaaaad I’m not  _ little _ anymore.”

 

They looked at Berkeley and Yale and Oberlin and Vanderbilt and Julliard.

 

But Teddy kept coming back to one specific school.

 

Brakebills.

 

“We can give you a tour of campus, if you want,” Quentin said, passing Teddy the onions. “It’s been a few years since your father and I have been there, but I’m sure we still know our way around,”

 

Teddy went to work chopping the onions, and Quentin turned to preheat the oven.

 

Cooking together had become something sacred in their family, a way for them to spend time together and create something together. Eliot had even started a garden on the side of the house for them to grow some of their own food and herbs. Teddy had learned to cook from Eliot, and was honestly getting better at it than Quentin ever would be.

 

“I mean, they have a great program,” Teddy said. “And it’s not too far from home. Besides, aren’t Aunt Julia and Aunt Kady starting new jobs there, soon?”

 

“They sure are,” Quentin confirmed, pulling more food out of the fridge. “Your Aunt Julia will be in charge of the costume department and Aunt Kady will be in charge of the scenic department,”

 

After  _ far _ too many years, Kady and Julia were finally moving back to the same state as Quentin and Eliot. He couldn’t  _ wait _ for them to be four hours apart instead of them being thirteen hours apart. 

 

“See? It’s perfect,” Teddy pointed the knife at Quentin.

 

The corners of Quentin’s mouth tugged upwards. “You’re really excited about it, huh?”

 

Teddy shrugged, and pushed the onions off the cutting board and covered their pork chops. 

 

But Quentin could see his smile.

 

“Alright, we’ll talk to your dad about it when he gets home,” Quentin said, shoving the last of the ingredients onto their uncooked meal and then shoving it in the oven. “Also, he’s gonna lose his mind when he learns what we’re cooking, just so you’re aware,”

 

“Isn’t today his last day of rehearsals before tech?” Teddy asked, slipping onto one of the bar stools. “I think he mentioned that when I talked to him yesterday,”

 

Quentin leaned back against the counter. “Yeah, and this show has been hell for him. He’ll be glad to come home to his favorite meal made by his two favorite people,”

 

Teddy looked around the house with a confused look. “Sorry, didn’t realize Aunt Margo was here?”

 

Quentin burst out laughing and lightly tossed a hand towel at Teddy, who caught it with a grin.

 

Then front door opened and was immediately followed with a “ _ Daddy’s home! _ ”

 

To this day, Teddy thought that they were still teasing him for The Innocent Incident when he was four. 

 

Quentin let him think that.

 

“Hey, El,” Quentin said as his husband came into the kitchen. “How was rehearsal?”

 

Eliot rolled his eyes as he swooped in and pecked Quentin on the cheek. “The worst and our director is an idiot. What’s for dinner?” Eliot slugged his coat and bag onto the kitchen table.

 

“Baked pork chops,” Quentin answered, trying to sound casual.

 

Eliot froze, and snapped his head to Quentin. “Did you just say-”

 

“Baked pork chops,” Quentin said again, a sly undertone slipping into his voice.

 

And then Eliot was crossing the length of their kitchen and taking Quentin’s face into his hands and he  kissed Quentin  _ deeply _ and  _ passionately _ and-

 

“ _ Daaaaaaads _ , I’m right  _ here,” _ Teddy groaned.

 

Quentin laughed and pulled away, shooting a grin at their son. “Told you he’d lose his mind,”

 

"It's  _baked pork chops,_ " Eliot said, grabbing Quentin by the waist and pulling him closer. "Baby, you know I think it's hot when you-"

 

Teddy groaned again. “I’m gonna go get started on homework. Let me know when dinner’s ready,”

 

The second Teddy was out of sight, Quentin turned back to Eliot and hungrily kissed him back, putting his arms around the back of Eliot's neck, sinking into his love’s kiss.

 

And they made out in the middle of the kitchen like they were in their 20s and not their 40s.

 

When they did come up for air, pressing foreheads together, Quentin fell in love all over again.

 

“You know, Teddy’s talking pretty seriously about Brakebills as an option,” Quentin said, patting Eliot’s chest.

 

Eliot nodded, and then made a face. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking about that, though?”

 

“It’ll be good to have Julia, Kady, and Henry there to watch over him?”

 

Eliot was clearly trying not to grin, trying to keep his face serious. “I was more thinking about all the places on campus we fucked,”

 

Quentin’s eyes bulged out of his head. “ _ Why _ on  _ earth _ would you be thinking about _that_?”

 

“Because we did it in a  _ lot _ of places, Q!” Eliot exclaimed. “Places our son would undoubtedly go!”

 

With a roll of his eyes, Quentin pulled out of Eliot’s arms and went to grab the plates out of the cabinet. “We didn’t do it in  _ that  _ many places, El,”

 

Eliot smirked and crossed his arms. “The seventh floor bathroom of the library,”

 

Quentin furrowed his brow. “That was  _ one _ time,”

 

“The empty classroom in the art building,” Eliot raised an eyebrow.

 

Quentin set the plates on the counter. “There’s no way Teddy would ever go there,” 

 

Eliot raised a finger. “The janitor’s closet in the humanities building,”

 

Quentin fought off a grin. “I still can’t believe we didn’t get caught there,”

 

“The bushes outside the Pride Center, that one night,”

 

“Oh my  _ god _ , I’d forgotten about that,” Quentin ran a hand over his face.

 

“Every _ single _ parking lot on campus,”

 

“Okay, El-”

 

“That one practice room in the music building. He’d definitely go there,”

 

“Eliot,”

 

“ _ God forbid _ he should go into the media lab after we-”

 

“Eliot Coldwater-Waugh,” Quentin cut him off.

 

Eliot leaned against the counter, a bemused look on his face. “Just saying, Q,”

 

Quentin pulled out silverware for the three of them. “El, our sexual escapades-”

 

“Sexapades, if you will,”

 

“-in college are not a good reason to tell our son he can’t go to our old alma mater,”

 

“I know,” Eliot said, wiggling his eyebrows. “I’d love for him to go to Brakebills. I was just putting that little thought nugget in your brain,”

 

“ _ Are you guys done kissing yet?” _ Teddy’s voice called from upstairs. “ _ I left my notebook down there, _ ”

 

Quentin bit his lip to hold back a laugh. “Coast is clear, Teddy,”

 

In the spring, when marching band as over, Quentin and Eliot and Teddy and Margo drove up to Brakebills.

 

Eliot had told Margo about the Brakebills tour when she was over for dinner one night, and she had insisted that she come along. To which, Teddy was ecstatic about, because he loved his Aunt Margo. So the four of them piled into Quentin’s car and road tripped.

 

Quentin drove the first hour.

 

Teddy drove the second hour, with Quetin in the front seat, giving him pointers. Teddy’d gotten his license a while ago, but he was still learning how to properly handle interstates. 

 

Margo drove the third hour, forcing everyone to jam along with her 80s pop music.

 

Eliot drove the final leg, taking them all the way into Brakebills with one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding his husband’s hand.

 

And for a moment, with the sound of Margo chatting in the backseat and the familiar landscape of Brakebills getting closer and closer, Quentin felt like they were back in college.

 

Except, their seventeen year old son was in the backseat.

 

Teddy was totally wide eyed as they pulled onto campus, taking in every sight and every random fact his parents threw out at him with an eager excitement. 

 

The first place they went was  _ obviously _ the Chatwin Theater, leading Teddy past the library and past the outdoor amphitheater and the courtyard outside the humanities building and the Pride Center (Eliot elbowed Quentin) until they were finally standing in front of the towering brick building and the seemingly bottomless fountain in the plaza.

 

Teddy was starry eyed.

 

He looked the same way Quentin felt the first time he saw the Chatwin Theatre.

 

“You know, I met your dad right over there,” Quentin pointed to the spot where a fuzzy memory of a much younger Eliot was lounging across the brick and smoking was echoing through his mind.

 

“Really?”  Teddy asked, and Eliot nodded.

 

“I was the student ambassador and he was the new kid. I gave him a tour of the whole place,” Eliot bumped his shoulder against Quentin's.

 

“Oh, why don’t I take a picture of you all over there?” Margo said, getting out her phone. “It’s a Coldwater-Waugh Historical Landmark,”

 

“Oh,  _ hell _ yes,” Eliot said, tugging Quentin’s hand and Teddy’s jacket sleeve over to the brick wall. 

 

Quentin and Teddy each took a side underneath Eliot’s long arms, posing and smiling.

 

And they captured the memory of the Coldwater-Waugh boys at their family landmark.

 

“What was it like?” Teddy asked, as they walked back to the car after they’d seen all the notable places on campus. “Meeting each other for the first time? Did you, like,  _ know _ ?”

 

Quentin exchanged a soft look with Eliot. “Yeah, I think I did know, in a weird kind of way. At least, I knew he was crazy hot and a bit of a bad boy and I had to get to know him better,”

 

Eliot laughed. “A bit of a bad boy? I don’t know about that,”

 

“You were smoking, El. And it was a smoke free campus,” Quentin rolled his eyes.

 

“We need to have a talk about what you deem as being a bad boy, Q,” Eliot pointed at him.

 

“Wait, Pop,” Teddy raised an eyebrow. “You used to smoke?”

 

Eliot, who had stopped smoking long before Teddy was born, nodded with a mischievous grin.

 

Margo snickered. “Teddy, you don’t wanna know about all the crazy shit your dads used to do,”

 

“ _ Margo-” _

 

Teddy filled out an application for Brakebills that night.

 

And that fall, an acceptance letter bearing the Bee and Key symbol came in the mail.

 

Sending Teddy off to college was the _hardest_ thing Quentin had ever done. 

 

Teddy had insisted that he could drive himself to school, which Quentin tried to fight at first, but he understood his boy’s need for independence.

 

Besides, Julia and Kady were there to receive him.

 

So, he and Eliot helped Teddy pack up his car at the end of the summer, both of them trying to keep it together.

 

Quentin was heavily relying on Eliot for strength and support. His husband was always better at keeping it together and being strong in the face of emotional times, and Eliot could read Quentin better than anyone. So anytime Quentin could feel tears prick at his eyes or a swelling in his chest, he silently would reach out and squeeze Eliot’s hand, and Eliot would respond back with either another hand squeeze or a kiss to Quentin’s temple.

 

And when Teddy’s car was fully packed and the sun was beginning to set, the three of them stood outside the house. Quentin leaned into Eliot’s side, hugging his arms to his chest and clearing his throat.

 

“Come visit soon,” Quentin said when Teddy had turned to face his dads. 

 

“Of course, Dad,” Teddy smiled a smile that made him look more grown up than Quentin was willing to admit. 

 

“And text us when you get there,” Eliot chimed in. “Don’t forget you’ve got dinner with your aunts tonight. And we’re just a phone call away-”

 

“I know, Pop,” Teddy cut him off gently, smiling at him. “I’m gonna be fine,”

 

Quentin swallowed the lump in throat. “We’re gonna miss you, kiddo, but we’re  _ so _ proud of you,” He was really struggling to hold it together. “And I love you  _ so _ much, Teddy,”

 

“I love you, too, Dad,” Teddy said, stepping forward to hug him.

 

Quentin sank into his son’s hug, soaking it for all it was worth, and remembering what it was like when he first held the newborn Teddy in his arms.

 

Eliot stepped forward to hug him next, murmuring an “I love you, Teddy Bear,” as he wrapped his arms around their son.

 

And Quentin remembered what it felt like to see Eliot holding Teddy in his arms for the first time.

 

He wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand.

 

And then Teddy was getting into his car and driving away from their house while Quentin and Eliot stood on their stoop and watched him go.

 

Quentin leaned his head against Eliot, and Eliot wrapped his arm around Quentin’s shoulders.

 

“Remember the day he was born?”  Eliot asked.

 

“Like it was yesterday,” Quentin sighed, watching Teddy’s tail lights disappear down the road.

 

Eliot squeezed Quentin’s shoulder. “What should we do now, Q?” 

 

The weight of Eliot’s question sunk into his chest. 

 

The last eighteen years had pretty much solely been about being Teddy’s Dads. 

 

What did they do now that their little bird had left the nest?

 

Quentin looked up at him, and even after all the years, his heart still fluttered at the sight of Eliot’s profile in the sunset lighting. The way the sun shone around him and gave him an almost angelic glow made Quentin feel woozy.

 

Quentin grinned. “You wanna watch  _ Newsies _ ?”

 

“Oh,  _ hell _ , yes,”

 

He didn’t know what the next few years would bring, but he knew that he was always grateful to have Eliot by his side. 

 

Always and forever.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) TEDDY!
> 
> I'm not saying that I heavily projected my own growing up into this chapter, but my dad is a chef and I was in marching band in high school so-


	28. Mid Life Success

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, yes, please enjoy this Garbage Nonsense Crack Fic of a Chapter, thx

_ Eight Years After That _

 

“So, tell me, Quentin, what is it like to be married to  _ the _ Eliot Coldwater-Waugh?”

 

“He’s got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met and I’m grateful for him every single day. There’s no one else I’d rather spend my life with,”

 

“And how has your marriage changed since he made his Broadway debut?”

 

“It’s not that different, actually. We just go to a lot more fancy parties together, which is fun because we get to get dressed up and we try to eat as much shrimp as possible,”

 

“And how does your son, Teddy feel about it?”

 

“Our son couldn’t be more proud. He and his fiance came up and saw the show last week. We think he mostly likes the bragging rights of having one of his dads on Broadway, though,”

 

“Tony nominations are coming up soon, are you expecting anything to come of that?”

 

“I’ll be proud of him no matter what happens. He won my heart a long time ago,”

 

“Eliot turned 57 this year, is he still just as good in bed as he was thirty years ago?”

 

“ _ Jules," _  Quentin rolled his eyes and playfully nudged Julia’s leg with his foot from across the couch. "They’re not gonna ask that,” 

 

His best friend had come down from Brakebills to spend the weekend at the Coldwater-Waugh cottage, for no other reason than they missed each other and wanted some quality time together, just to sit and talk and drink wine like they had when they were in college. 

 

And currently, she was helping him prep for any questionnaires or interviews he might have to face in the coming weeks. 

 

Because Eliot had made it to  _ Broadway _ .

 

It was no surprise to Quentin, at least. His husband had been a well respected actor in the New York City scene for many years now. He’d mostly focused on plays, doing a few musicals and workshops here and there, and then scoring the lead role in a new Broadway musical.

 

He was the  _ talk of the town _ , and Quentin couldn’t be more proud. And there was even Tony nom buzz around him, as everyone in Manhattan was enarmored with the devilishly handsome and freakishly talented Eliot Coldwater-Waugh.

 

“Answer the question, Coldwater,” Julia grinned at Quentin over her wine glass, and wiggled her eyebrows. 

 

“Of  _ course _ he’s just as good in bed,” Quentin grinned. “It’s  _ Eliot, _ ”

 

Julia laughed, and the wrinkles around her eyes crinkled. “If anything, I think Kady’s gotten  _ better _ in bed over the years, and I didn’t think was possible,”

 

Quentin ran his hand over his beard, which he’d been growing out for a while, much to Eliot’s delight. “Isn’t it crazy that we married our college sweethearts? It seems like just yesterday that I walked on you and Kady at that 70s themed party,”

 

Julia shook her head. “No, I think it was 90s themed. Didn’t Eliot dress as Ken?”

 

Laughter burst out of Quentin, and he nodded. “You’re absolutely right, it was 90s themed,”

 

“We had fun at those parties,” Julia sighed, a happy, content, nostalgic sigh. And then her eyes widened. “Except for that  _ one _ party-”

 

“God, Jules, no,” Quentin groaned.

 

Julia shimmied on her half of the couch. “It was Alice Quinn’s birthday party, I think it was like, cat themed or something-”

 

“Please, no-”

 

“And you and Eliot got in that  _ huge _ fight over something stupid-”

 

“ _ You’re _ stupid,”

 

“And then you gave him a  _ blowjob _ on the side of the house!”

 

“Okay, but I didn’t tell you about that until months later,” Quentin pointed his glass at her.

 

Julia shrugged. “It still happened,”

 

Quentin took a swig of his wine. “I’d be fine with never bringing it up again in my lifetime,”

 

At that moment, Quentin heard the front door open and the voice of his partner call out an enthusiastic: “ _ Daddy’s home!” _ and the door shut behind him.

 

“Well, if it isn’t the famous Broadway actor Eliot Coldwater-Waugh,” Julia cheered as Eliot came in, placing his coat over the back of one of their chairs.

 

“Hoolia, glad to see you,” Eliot cheered back, and then turned to Quentin. “Hello, love of my life,” Eliot said, dipping down to press a chaste kiss to Quentin’s lips. “What are we discussing tonight?”

 

Julia grinned wickedly. “The Cottage party that Quentin gave you a blowjob,”

 

“ _ Jules _ ,” Quentin groaned at the same time Eliot said: “That was one of the best blowjobs of my life,”

 

Quentin raised an eyebrow. “Really, El? That was one of the best?”

 

“Hell yeah, it was,” Eliot headed to the kitchen. “You were so feral, Q. It was hot,”

 

“We haven’t just been talking about our sex lives, you know,” Quentin waved his hand.

 

Eliot returned to the room with his own glass of wine in his hand. “Oh?”

 

“We’ve been doing some interview prep,” Julia commented. “You guys are gonna have to talk to a lot of people in the coming weeks,”

 

Quentin shifted, without even thinking, to make room for Eliot on the couch, and his husband slipped to sit next to him. With ease, Quentin settled back into Eliot’s chest, grateful for his presence after he’d been gone all day. Eliot pressed a quick kiss to Quentin’s temple.

 

“For the record,” Julia quirked an eyebrow, “You two are still just as stupid cute as you were before you got married,”

 

“Coming up on thirty years, baby,” Eliot hummed, raising his glass.  Quentin clinked his glass with Eliot’s, and Julia rolled her eyes. “How’s your misuses?” Eliot asked, and Julia’s face lit up like a warm summer day.

 

“Kady is  _ fantastic, _ ” Julia grinned. “Her students love her and she just got promoted to Head of Undergraduates, and she’s killing it,”

 

“I never really pegged you guys as professors, but it works,” Quentin commented, ignoring Eliot’s comment about pegging that followed.

 

Julia sipped her wine and shrugged. “Well, you know I love learning and teaching and knowledge. And I think Kady just likes having her own little army of scenic students,”

 

“I bet. She’s always been a bit of a rabble rouser,” Eliot said. “When are you guys coming down to see the show?”

 

“Sometime before Tony nominations come out, for sure,”

 

Eliot groaned. “Don’t remind me. It’s all I can think about,”

 

_ “I’ll give you something else to think about, El,” _

 

“Can you two not do that in front of me? I am a guest in your home,”

 

And their house was filled with laughter.

 

After Teddy had gone off to college, there had been a quiet fear in Quentin’s chest that he and Eliot would become sad empty nesters, moping about the cottage all day and missing their kid. They’d spent so much of their lives being Teddy’s Parents, there was the slight fear that they wouldn’t know what to do with themselves after their little bird left the nest.

 

But it’d been quite the opposite. 

 

Over the last few years, Quentin and Eliot had been having the time of their lives. 

 

They’d both gotten more involved in the theatre scene, become well known and respected figures and often thought of as a package deal. Quentin had a flexible work schedule as he’d been the Head of the Roundabout Theatre Company Props Shop for quite some time, so he always went with Eliot to his shindigs and parties and openings and whatever else they could get dressed up at. Teddy or Margo sometimes tagged along, but it was mostly just Quentin and Eliot.

 

And the unholy amounts of horderves they stole and took home with them.

 

And they were happy.

 

Like, ridiculously, completely, and totally happy. 

 

Happier than Quentin thought would be possible in his lifetime. 

 

They went to the farmers market on the weekend and bought fresh flowers and vegetables.

 

Quentin joined a book club specifically about Queer Literature.

 

Eliot was a part of a program that helped homeless LGBTQ youth.

 

They went on vacations together and saw all the corners of the world.

 

They’d even gone on a Mediterranean cruise with Fen and Margo last year.

 

And they woke up next to each other every day.

 

Things weren’t always perfect, they did argue and have bad days and have fights over stupid things that built up to fights over larger things, but they worked through it and loved each other through it. 

 

Quentin especially needed love on the days that his brain was bad and the world was hard.

 

And Eliot especially needed love going into Tony Awards season.

 

Eliot, to no one’s surprise, had won many awards throughout his career.

 

But this was the  _ Tonys _ .

 

The musical he was staring in was called  _ The Beauty of All Life,  _ and told the story of two young boys who got magicked away to an alternate universe and had to spend their lifetime trying to solve a mosaic puzzle, when they found out at the end of their lives it had been loving each other all along that was the true beauty of all life. Then at the very end, they were whisked back to the present time as their younger selves and got a second shot a lifetime of love. 

 

Eliot played the narrator throughout the whole show and, as revealed in the second act, the older version of one of the boys. And he was _phenomenal_ in the role and Quentin was _positive_ he was going to get the nomination.

 

But Eliot was trying not to think about it too hard. He was just doing it for the love of theatre and not the awards. 

 

The day of the Tony nominations announcements, Quentin had a production meeting.

 

The entire meeting, he was tapping his foot and checking his phone, trying to tune into what Margo, who had been promoted to production manager, was saying while simultaneously not listening to a single word she was saying. 

 

When they’d gone all the way around the table with their updates and Margo was just wrapping up and going over some schedule changes, his phone buzzed.

 

Everyone’s heads snapped towards him and Margo grinned.

 

They all knew what day it was and what call Quentin was waiting for.

 

“Go,” was all Margo said, and Quentin bolted to his feet and out of the room, bringing his phone up to his ear. 

 

“El?” He breathed.

 

Eliot was crying.

 

“Eliot?” Quentin asked again, his tone a little bit more firm and his heart pounding.

 

From over the phone, he heard Eliot draw in a shaky breath.

 

“I got it,” Eliot sobbed. “I got the nomination, Q,”

 

His hand flew up to his mouth. “Oh, my god, El,  _ really? _ ”

 

“Really,” Eliot choked out.

 

“Eliot, I am  _ so _ proud of you,” Quentin cried. “You deserve it and I’m just so  _ fucking _ proud of you,”

 

Eliot laughed on the other end of the phone. “Q, I’m a  _ Tony  _ nominee,”

 

“You’re a Tony nominee!”

 

“I’m a fucking Tony nominee!”

 

Quentin laughed, and ran his hand through his hair. “Oh my god, El, this is amazing. We’ll have to celebrate tonight. Break out that peach wine we’ve been saving,”

 

“Will you pick up some kind of dessert on your way home to go with it?”

 

Quentin grinned. “Anything for my husband, the Tony nominee,”

 

“Oh, Teddy’s calling me,” Eliot said, sounding like he had pulled away from the phone. “He must have been watching, too. Can I call you back, baby?”

 

“Of course,” Quentin nodded. “I love you, El,”

 

“I love you, too, Q,” Eliot said before hanging up.

 

Joy was bursting out of Quentin’s chest as he stood alone in the hallways of the theatre.

 

And so, naturally, he joyfully burst back into the conference room and announced: “MY HUSBAND’S A TONY NOMINEE!”

 

And he bought them cupcakes to celebrate with on the way home.

 

The next few months were a blur.

 

Eliot had to do interview after interview after interview.

 

And attend a million different events with other nominees. 

 

And do all of that on top of still doing eight shows a week.

 

And he handled it all with grace and class.

 

And it made Quentin love him even more.

 

Quentin was, of course, Eliot’s date to the Tony awards. 

 

Eliot wore a decadent green and silver suit, and Quentin wore his favorite black suit.

 

And naturally, a classic bowtie that Eliot did for him.

 

Quentin had never been great in large crowds or at fancy events, but Eliot made it easy for him. While they were on the red carpet together, three hours before the start of the show, Eliot always managed to have a hand on him. Whether their hands were clasped tightly or Eliot had a hand pressed to the small of Quentin’s back or brushing hair out of his face, Eliot’s comforting touch was always there. He followed Eliot’s lead, relying on him for social cues and trusting that Eliot would pull them out of any uncomfortable situations.

 

Quentin did get to get in on some of the interview fun, too.

 

“Is this your favorite role you’ve seen your husband in?” One interviewer said.

 

Quentin grinned playfully. “I think my favorite has to be the show we met on, when we did  _ Peter and the Starcatcher _ together in college,”

 

“What does your son think about the Tony nomination?”

 

“Teddy couldn’t be more proud. We think he mostly likes having the bragging rights of having one of his dads on Broadway, though,” Quentin laughed.

 

“What’s it like being married to a Broadway actor?” Another one asked.

 

“Same as being married to a regional theatre actor,” Quentin quipped.

 

“What does it mean for you to be playing a queer character as a queer actor?” Another interviewer asked Eliot.

 

“It’s incredibly powerful for me to get to bring to life a character that I didn’t get to have growing up,” Eliot said, wrapping his arm around Quentin’s shoulders. “And it’s nice to be apart of that representation for people like us. It’s  _ so _ important to see yourself in stories, and I love getting to tell a story that I wish a younger me had seen,”

 

Quentin’s heart swelled as he looked up at his husband.

 

And he couldn’t help himself.

 

He reached up on his tip toes and pressed a swift kiss to Eliot’s cheek. 

 

The kiss caught Eliot off guard a little bit, but he sent a sweet smile down to Quentin. “What was that for, Q?”

 

Quentin didn’t even care that the interviewer was still staring at them. He shrugged. “I’m just really proud of you,” He said, and Eliot  _ blushed _ .

 

The interviewer let out a very long “Awwwwwwwww.”

 

Most of their interviews went like that. 

 

For the actual Tony Awards, Eliot got to perform the act one finale from the show alongside his costars, a song called “Evolve” where the two young men realized that something was evolving, if you will, between them and realized that they wanted to give it a shot.

 

Well, give it a shot before everything goes to hell in a hand basket in act two, but that’s just the nature of theatre.

 

Eliot was star on stage, milking the audience for all they were worth and hitting every note perfectly. Eliot’s confidence radiated off of him on stage in a very natural way, like he owned the stage but he was willing to share it with every single individual audience member. Quentin still loved to watch the way he worked on stage, like he was born for it and was meant to do nothing else in this life. 

 

But when Eliot returned to his seat, Quentin picked up on all of Eliot’s tell signs that he was nervous. 

 

His palm was sweaty in Quentin’s hand and he couldn’t quite sit still and his eyes were darting around the entire room.

 

So Quentin gently brought their clasped hands up to his face and kissed Eliot’s knuckles, sending all of his love and positive energy through his lips.

 

Eliot sent him a grateful look, and swiped his thumb over Quentin’s.

 

Quentin could feel Eliot holding his breath as famed actor Hale Appleman took to the stage to announce the category he’d been nominated for. 

 

Quentin leaned over in his seat. “Hey, he kind of looks like you in person,”

 

Eliot rolled his eyes. “No, he does not,”

 

“I mean, he does a little bit,”

 

“Q, I love you, but  _ hush _ ,”

 

Hale Appleman cleared his throat. “The nominees for best performance by an actor in a Leading Role in a Musical are...”

 

The first actor as Jeremy Jordan.

 

The second was an old white guy no one had ever heard of.

 

The third was Christian Borle.

 

The fourth was Reeve Carney.

 

And when they announced Eliot’s name, the crowd went  _ wild. _

 

He was clearly the crowd favorite.

 

Quentin beamed. 

 

“And the Tony award goes to...”

 

They squeezed each other’s hands.

 

“Eliot Coldwater-Waugh!”

 

The first thing out of Eliot’s mouth was an “ _ OH MY GOD!”  _ and then he was throwing his arms around Quentin and pulling him into a tight hug.

The crowd was roaring as Eliot made his way from Quentin’s arms to the stage, bouncing up the stairs and accepting his award from the equally tall actor and turning to face the microphone.

 

“Um, oh, wow,” Eliot said, staring down at the silver award. “This is incredible, thank you,” A soft laugh escaped Eliot’s lips and he turned his bright eyes back to the audience.

 

“I’d like to thank the Broadway League and the American Theatre Wing. I’d like to thank our producers, and to Lev Grossman for writing us a beautiful show to work with and for letting us tell this story.” Eliot rambled quickly. He gestured wildly with one hand while clutching his award with the other. “I want to thank my incredible cast for the ways in which we love each other. I want to thank my family: Teddy, Margo, Fen, Julia, Kady, Henry, Ted, Diane and most of all-” Eliot drew in a shaky breath. “I want to thank the love of my life, Quentin,”

 

Tears sprung to Quentin’s eyes as Eliot placed his hand over his heart and looked right at him.

 

“Q, I love you,” Eliot said. “You are my rock and my soft place to land and I couldn’t have done this without you. I am grateful for you every day that I’m alive. Peaches and plums, forever, baby,”

 

Quentin blew him a kiss, eyes sparkling.

 

Eliot then raised his award, and looked into the camera.

 

“This award goes to every queer kid like me who wanted to see themselves in stories. We have been heard. We have been seen. We have been felt. We are  _ not _ alone. And we deserve a place in this world. Thank you,”

 

The crowd bust into applause again as Eliot turned to walk off stage, Quentin cheering the loudest.

 

And the Tony Award went up on a shelf in their home, for everyone to see and for them to display with pride. 

 

And over the months after the Tonys, Eliot’s acceptance speech became a sort of rallying cry for the queer community.  _ “We have been heard. We have been seen. We have been felt. We are not alone. And we deserve a place in this world. _ ” found its way into art and onto shirts and banners and tattoos. 

 

Quentin and Eliot even discussed it one night, when they were vacationing in the Italian coastline for their 30th anniversary, because they had the time and money to do that these days. 

 

“It’s kind of amazing how much people have latched onto it,” Quentin commented, leaning into Eliot’s side as they stood on their hotel room’s balcony, overlooking the crashing waves into the jagged rocks below. “You’re like, a Gay Icon,”

 

Eliot laughed, and ran his hand up and down Quentin’s arm. “I don’t know about that, Q,”

 

“You totally are,” Quentin shot back. “You’re someone for the younger kids to look up to,”

 

Eliot made a face. “Does that make me old?”

 

“A little bit, but I still love you,”

 

“Even with my gray hairs?”

 

Quentin reached up and ran his fingers through his husband’s hair. “I’d say they’re more white, actually-”

 

“ _ Quentin-” _

 

A laugh bubbled out of him, and he wrapped his arms around Eliot’s waist. “Oh, come on, El. We’re not  _ that _ old. We’ve still got some spark left in us,”

 

Eliot nodded, shrugging and looking out at the sea, his profile lit by the colors of the setting sun in the Italian sky. It still took Quentin’s breath away.

 

“I guess you’re right. I just feel really old. Soon I’m gonna have to use a walker,”

 

“Gross,” Quentin teased. “We should get you a cane instead. Something sexy,”

 

Eliot’s eyes flicked down to Quentin’s and he wriggled his eyebrows. “Still find me sexy, Coldwater?”

 

Quentin bit his lip in the way he knew drove Eliot  _ crazy _ , and ran his hand up Eliot’s chest. “Remember when you said that one blowjob in college was the best one of your life?”

 

Eliot grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I  _ do _ in fact remember saying that,”

 

“Want a round two?”

 

“Baby, you know that I do,”


	29. 50 Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the Act 5 Finale. The next, and final, chapter will be the Epilogue. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading. <3

_ Twenty One Years After That _

 

Quentin woke to sunlight pouring in through the windows.

 

He woke to a warm feeling surrounding him and pressing into him. A comforting warmth that he’d woken up with a million times before and a familiar weight of an arm draped across him and a chest pressed into his back. He could feel gentle, sleeping breaths on the back of his neck, and he didn’t even have to think twice to know who it was.

 

Eliot.

 

Eliot’s arm was now withered and worn with age, his skin a different texture than it used to be, but it was still his love’s arm. It was still  _ his _ Eliot, with white hair and eyes that can barely see without coke bottle lenses and legs that require a cane to walk and a mouth that was still full of crude jokes, despite also being filled with dentures. 

 

Quentin would have loved to stayed tucked under Eliot’s arm all morning long, as his body ached and groaned with any movement and it was easier under the warmth and comfort of their soft blankets.

 

But his stomach growled.

 

So with creaking bones, Quentin crawled out from underneath his husband’s arm and out from underneath their soft blankets to face the day. His feet found the slippers on the floor and his arms found his bathrobe on the closet door and he gently shuffled himself from their bedroom, down the hallway, across the living room, and into the kitchen.

 

Before he got to work on breakfast, he pulled his long white hair back into a pony tail and did the same with his beard, and then began pulling things out of the fridge and pantry.

 

Bacon and eggs and fruit and potatoes and butter and pancakes and peach jam.

 

On the weekends, Quentin tended to go all out with his breakfast spreads.

 

Or was it the weekend? Maybe it was a Tuesday. 

 

It’d been a bit hard to keep track since he retired. 

 

His 77 year old brain could be a little fuzzy at times.

 

Eliot was the one who kept a more detailed schedule of their lives in a large leather notebook, insisting that he keep it in something he could put his hands on and not some technology dohickey that would erase it with the next update.

 

Regardless, Quentin got to work on his cooking, with gentle and skilled hands from years of cooking. Eliot now insisted that he would only eat breakfast food if Quentin made it, which was sweet until Teddy asked them out to brunch and Eliot insisted to make it lunch or dinner.

 

Teddy. 

 

He missed his boy.

 

Well, it wasn’t like his son was a total stranger. In fact, he’d come over with Rachel, his wife, and their kids last week. And he was seeing him again for the celebrations coming up soon.

 

But Quentin still missed him.

 

He missed having a little buddy to stand by his side while he fumbled over the stove in hopes of surprising Eliot with a home cooked meal at the end of a long day. He missed going with him to marching band competitions, and he missed his weekly phone call updates about how college was going.

 

It was the kind of nostalgia that came with getting old.

 

“Q? Is that bacon I smell?”

 

A sleepy Eliot appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, wearing his own slippers and bathrobe and large, silver rimmed glasses. His white hair stuck out at odd angles and he rubbed his hand over his face.

 

“It sure is, my love,” Quentin responded, poking at the bacon in question. “Cooking it just the way you like it,”

 

Eliot hummed a response while he slowly creaked his way over to Quentin and kissed his temple. “A breakfast fit for kings,”

 

“Eliot, what day is today?” Quentin asked, poking at their eggs.

 

“You already losing your memory, dearie?” Eliot quipped, moving over to the cabinets and pulling down two mugs for them.

 

“I have done no such thing,” Quentin pointed his wooden spoon at him. 

 

Eliot winked at him, and turned the tea kettle on. “It’s Saturday, love. We’ve got no plans all day today,”

 

“Oh, wonderful,” Quentin pulled the eggs off the stove. “We can start pulling pictures for our anniversary party. Teddy tasked us with going through our old albums,”

 

Eliot chuckled. “How is it that you can’t remember what day of the week that it is, but you remember the one thing that I don’t want to do,”

 

Quentin gently thwaped his arm with the spoon. “You big baby. It won’t be that bad,”

 

Eliot placed tea bags in their mugs. “Oh, it will,”

 

“Our son is taking care of all the other party details, we can do this one thing,”

 

Eliot pressed a gentle kiss to Quentin’s temple. “Alright, my love. If you say so,”

 

“I do indeed say so,” Quentin grinned, turning around kissing Eliot on the lips. 

 

Their lips were now cracked and elderly, but it still gave him butterflies in his chest.

 

Quentin was grateful that those butterflies never went away.

 

Eliot helped Quentin set out their plates and silverware, and helped carry their glorious breakfast spread to their kitchen table. And, with only mild moans, they settled into the wooden chairs and tucked into their food.

 

“Has everyone who’s coming to our party RSVP’d?” Eliot asked, cutting into his pancake.

 

“I think so,” Quentin nodded. “And anyone who hasn’t, Teddy said he was going to call them this week,”

 

Eliot’s hands faltered slightly. “Is Fen coming?” He asked, his voice soft.

 

Quentin’s chest ached. “Yes, she is,”

 

“And Julia?” 

 

Quentin cleared his throat. “Yes, and I think it’ll be good for her to get out of her lonely house,”

 

Eliot nodded.

 

They didn’t say any more about it.

 

Eliot and Quentin were celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary in a few weeks, and hosting a large party of all their closest friends and family and coworkers. Teddy was doing most of the planning, because he was a good son, and Quentin was looking forward to seeing familiar faces.

 

But not all of their friends and their spouses had made it to 50 years. 

 

And that was half the reason they’d been putting off looking at the photos. 

 

But Quentin tried not to think about it as he ate his fruit.

 

After breakfast, they cleared the table and washed the dishes together, with Eliot singing some old show tune softly and Quentin swaying his hips slightly.

 

And when they were done, Quentin placed a tender hand on Eliot’s shoulder.

 

“El, we should look at the pictures,” He said with a gentle tone.

 

Eliot nodded.

 

In his 40s, Quentin had gotten really into photo albums, and printed out an entire lifetime’s worth of photos for them to have and kept it up over the last thirty years. (And he would _ not _ admit that it was mostly because he couldn’t understand modern technology.) But Eliot helped him pull out all the albums off the shelf and lay them out on the dining room table.

 

Their task was simple.

 

Find pictures of the two of them from over the last 50 years for Teddy and Rachel to put up around their banquet hall on the day of their party. 

 

So they started at their beginning, college.

 

And the first picture they had of the two of them was from  _ Peter and the Starcatcher _ opening.

 

The two of them.

 

And Margo.

 

Eliot’s hands trembled as he pulled the photograph out of the album, pulling the picture of the three of them up close for his old eyes to see.

 

And Quentin waited patiently, trying to keep his own emotions in check.

 

“Do you ever think about her?” Eliot asked, as if he didn’t already know the answer.

 

“I dream about her,” Quentin answered.

 

Margo Hanson had always been a fighter, and the brightest bitch of her age.

 

And she’d been a fighter right up until the very end.

 

And there was a giant hole in their world where she used to be. 

 

“She would have loved this party,” Eliot said, setting the photo down on the table. “But can you imagine her putting up with the tediousness of Teddy’s details?” There was a little bit of humor in his words, but Quentin could also hear the way his voice cracked.

 

“No,” Quentin said, surprised at the laughter in his voice, “Not even a little bit,”

 

“She would have given Teddy an earful and then done it all herself,” Eliot nodded, running his fingertips over her youthful face. He drew in a shaky breath. “I miss her, Q,”

 

Quentin reached out across the table and gently entwined his fingers with Eliot’s. 

 

“Me too, El. Me too.”

 

They spent the rest of the morning going through the photos.

 

Photos of them over fall break, that same year. 

 

Photos of them at Eliot’s Graduation.

 

Photos of them moving Eliot to New York.

 

Photos of them at the Coldwater House for Christmas.

 

Photos of them at Quentin’s graduation.

 

Photos of them in their first apartment together.

 

Photos of them out on the town with Margo and Julia.

 

Photos of them at their college reunion.

 

Photos of them the day they brought Teddy home.

 

Photos of them with Toddler Teddy at Disney World.

 

Photos of them with Teddy in his first grade school play.

 

Photos of them at Margo and Fen’s wedding.

 

Photos of them at Kady and Julia’s wedding.

 

Photos of them at high school marching band contests.

 

Photos of them visiting Teddy at college.

 

Photos of them on their cruise with Margo and Fen.

 

Photos of them at the Tony Awards.

 

Photos of them in Italy.

 

Photos of them in Greece.

 

Photos of them in Canada.

 

Photos of them in France.

 

Photos of them in England.

 

Photos of them in Brazil.

 

Photos of them at Teddy’s wedding.

 

Photos of them at the birth of their twin granddaughters.

 

Photos of them with Margo, Fen, Julia, and Kady.

 

And then photos of them with Margo, Fen, and Julia.

 

And then photos of them with just Fen and Julia. 

 

And most recently, photos of them at their granddaughter’s high school graduation. 

 

Quentin held Eliot’s hand through all of it.

 

They ate lunch at their table in the backyard, soaking in the spring sun rays and eating cucumber sandwiches. 

 

“Was that all the photos?” Eliot asked, and Quentin nodded.

 

“Thank you for going through them with me,” Quentin said, squeezing his hand.

 

Eliot sent him a kind smile. “I enjoyed it. It was fun to look at our life in retrospect, in a way,”

 

Quentin nodded. “We certainly have a lot of memories,”

 

The corners of Eliot’s lips tugged upwards. “Certainly very busy lives,”

 

Quentin pursed his lips and looked out across their yard, watching the way the wind softly rustled the bushes and the sunlight dappled through the trees of the surrounding forest, his mind turning like cogs in an old machine. 

 

He turned back to Eliot. “We led full,  _ good _ lives,”

 

Eliot smiled, the wrinkles on his face creasing, and slipped his hand into Quentin’s. “We did. And I’m glad I spent it with you,”

 

“What was it that I called you on our wedding day?” Quentin asked, feeling his husband’s rough and calloused fingers under his own. “My lifetime love?”

 

“I believe you did,” Eliot nodded, eyes twinkling in a way that only came with old age.

 

“Do you think....” Quentin bit his lip. “Do you think we’ll meet again in the next lifetime?”

 

“I have no doubt about it,” Eliot affirmed. “So long as there is a Quentin Coldwater and an Eliot Waugh on the earth, we’ll always find each other. In this lifetime and in every timeline,”

 

“Promise?”

 

“Promise,”

 

Quentin’s heart swelled, and he felt a warm wave of happiness roll through his chest. He released a content sigh from his chest, and looked across the table at Eliot.

 

“I think we’ve still got some peach pie left over in the fridge, do you want some?”

 

Eliot scoffed. “You know, you never hear about plum pie,”

 

Quentin laughed as he stood up out of his chair. “Because that would be disgusting, Eliot,”

 

“Have you ever had a plum pie?” Eliot teased as he followed Quentin back towards the house, their plates in one hand. “No, so you can’t knock it till you’ve tried it,”

 

“I’ll knock you, mister,” Quentin grinned as he opened up the back door.

 

“Baby, we’ve been knocking boots for the last fifty years,” Eliot grinned, lightly smacking Quentin on the ass.

 

“You’re the worst,” Quentin rolled his eyes and held the door open for Eliot.

 

Eliot grabbed the door from him as Quentin stepped over the threshold. “Yeah, but you love me,” Eliot quipped.

 

Quentin couldn’t help himself. He laughed and turned back around to Eliot to snatch a kiss from him. 

 

“I do,” Quentin said, pulling away from his husband. 

 

His lifetime love.

 

His soulmate. 

 

His best friend.   

 

His rock.

 

His soft place to land.

 

His Eliot.

 

His plum.

 

“I really, really do,”

 

And they shut the door behind them. 

 


	30. The Teddy Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this story has been such a gift. I started writing it the day after I graduated college in May, and this story has been a love letter to my time in college and to my department. I'm so grateful that I could share it with all of you and with these characters that we all love so dearly. Thank you all for sticking it with it all summer and being so wonderfully supportive. Couldn't have done it without all the love. 
> 
> And now, please enjoy the finale of Falling Slowly.

Teddy Coldwater-Waugh wished he could say that he wasn’t a nervous little fuck, but he absolutely was. Nerves rattled in his chest and twisted like a wet rag in his stomach, but sending your kid off to college tended to do that to a person. 

 

But there was also something else brewing inside the caverns of his chest: hope.

 

Hope that his daughter would make a wonderful life for herself and get to experience all kinds of exciting things, hope that she’d find a place where she belonged and make something of herself. Hope and pride for the young woman she was becoming. Sending your kid off to college also tended to do that to a person.

 

Teddy wondered if his dads had gone through the same turmoil of emotions when they sent him off to college, and he couldn’t believe that he got away with driving himself off to school. At the time, he’d felt so independent and cool, but the idea of not helping his daughters move and give them a proper send off made his chest ache. 

 

He and his wife, Rachel, had gotten lucky that they were going to different schools and were starting at different times. One of the twins, Jane, had moved into NYU last weekend, to study some science thing that he only pretended to understand when she was talking about it.

 

His other daughter, on the other hand, had chosen to follow in the Coldwater-Waugh family tradition.

 

Which, led him to where he was now: walking up to the Chatwin Theatre on the Brakebills University Campus. 

 

They’d moved their little girl into her freshman dorm housing a couple hours ago, and were now escorting her across the campus for her to get a tour of the space with one of the student ambassadors. It had been at least a decade since he’d been back on campus, so the sight of the towering brick building and the large and seemingly bottomless fountain in front of it was like coming home. He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that the sight of the theatre made his breath catch in his throat.

 

Teddy was a nervous little fuck but he was also a sentimental little fuck, and the sight of any theatre, anywhere, made him a little emotional. The glowing sign of the theatre’s name and the marquees and banners of upcoming shows always filled him with a certain light that he couldn’t get anywhere else in the world.

 

And to be in front of the  _ Chatwin _ Theatre of all places? The place where his fathers met and where his aunts met their wives and all of them grew up together and began their life journey’s together? The place that was the starting place of his family’s history, and to be sending his little girl there for her to study theatre in the same building her grandfathers’ studied theatre and fell in love?

 

He wished his dads were there to see it.

 

His dads, who are still perfectly healthy and living in his childhood home on Mosaic Lane, but who don’t quite move around like they used to, and who couldn’t handle the long car ride or the many hills and staircases of their old alma mater.

 

But that was okay, Teddy would send them pictures.

 

Teddy approached the theatre with Rachel’s hand in his own and his daughter bouncing beside him. She looked so excited she could barely handle it, and it made Teddy’s heart soar.

 

“Is this it? The Chatwin Theatre?” She asked, a grin filling up her youthful face.

 

“It sure is,” Teddy nodded. He pointed off to the side, to a familiar brick wall. “Your Grandaddy and Papa met right over there,”

 

His daughter’s eyes were wide. “Really?”

 

“Really,” Teddy grinned, remembering the story he’d heard a thousand times of how his dads met. “Grandaddy was the new student, Papa was the student ambassador, and the rest is history. It’s a Coldwater-Waugh Historical Landmark,”

 

“You two stand over there and let me take your picture,” Rachel said, pulling her phone out. “We can send it to Grandaddy and Papa,”

 

“Dad’ll be ecstatic,” Teddy said, swinging his arm over the shortest Coldwater-Waugh’s shoulders. “He says this spot is magic,”

 

“He always did believe in magic,” Rachel hummed as father and daughter posed together. She snapped the picture, and then showed it to them. “What time is your tour guide supposed to be here, sweetie?”

 

“Any minute now,”

 

Teddy clapped his hands together. “Well, we won’t get in your way,” He pulled his little buddy in for a tight hug. “Call us later and tell us how it goes, okay?”

 

“I will, Dad,”

 

“We’re so proud of you, honey,” Rachel said, stepping forward and getting the next hug. “We love you  _ so  _ much,”

 

“I love you too, Mom,”

 

As Rachel pulled away and they turned to go, Teddy was startled by the sudden appearance of another person behind them.

 

It was a college girl, a pretty girl with long curls and a pierced eyebrow. Despite the August heat, she was wearing a dark flannel and ripped jeans and a beanie over her curls. She was also smoking, and Teddy remembered that Brakebills was a smoke free campus.

 

But there was a certain air of.....

 

Well.

 

The stranger looked like she could kick his ass.

 

The strange girl flicked her eyes at Teddy and Rachel briefly before going back to his daughter, and then glancing at the post it note in her hand. She took a long drag of her cigarette and exhaled before looking back up with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Margo Coldwater-Waugh?” She said, his daughter’s name rolling off her tongue.

 

Teddy’s own eyes flicked to Margo, who looked...

 

Star struck.

 

“Uh huh,” was all Margo could get out in the presence of the beautiful stranger. 

 

The stranger smirked, and held out her hand. “I’m Stephanie,” She said, dropping her name like it was a gift to be bestowed upon them.

 

And judging by the expression on Margo’s face, it was.

 

“I’m your tour guide,” Stephanie said, and then gestured with her cigarette to Teddy and Rachel. “Are they coming with us?”

 

‘Uh, no,” Margo said, sliding past her parents. “Nope, just us,”

 

Teddy and Rachel exchanged a bemused glance.

 

Margo, who came out last year, was  _ clearly _ enamored with this girl.

 

“We’ll leave you two to it!” Rachel said, grabbing Teddy’s hand. “Bye, Margo,”

 

“Talk to you later, honey,” Teddy said, and Margo sent them a sweet smile and nod.

 

“Follow me,” Stephanie said, turning towards the theatre and not looking behind her.

 

Teddy and Rachel sent their daughter a thumbs up as she looked back at them over her shoulder.

 

And they watched them go, disappearing into the theatre.

 

Teddy wrapped his arm around Rachel’s shoulders. “Maybe this spot  _ is _ magic,” 

 

Rachel laughed, and shook her head. “You sound like your dad,”

 

“I take that as a compliment,” Teddy grinned. 

 

“You should,” Rachel reached up and kissed his cheek. “Come on, let’s get heading back to the city,”

 

Teddy sighed, and nodded. “Think she’ll be okay?”

 

“Margo lives up to her namesake,” Rachel rubbed a soothing hand up his arm. “She’ll be fine,” 

 

Rachel pulled away from him, no doubt heading back to the car, and Teddy was left standing at the Coldwater-Waugh Historical Landmark, staring up at the theatre.

 

Staring up at his home away from home, in the place where it all began. 

 

And there was a feeling in his chest.

 

One of lightness and joy and warmth and comfort and nostalgia and...

 

Hope.

 

He had a good feeling about the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Trails, everyone. <3


End file.
